


Series of Odd Situations

by FreelanceMem



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Animals, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, M/M, Professionals - Freeform, cowboy, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23385790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreelanceMem/pseuds/FreelanceMem
Summary: A series of odd situations that interconnect in stranger ways.Basically short stories that interconnect over time. Each chapter is self contained enough that you can join each as a stand alone. I hope you enjoy the interwoven plot though.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 28





	1. When You Leave a Sniper Overnight

**Author's Note:**

> The one where Sniper is hired to kill a man.

After a long night of being posted on watch, the team finally had the chance to unwind with cups of coffee. Ironic in a sense, allowing them a sense of ease for a while before starting a dayshift. What a disaster.

Sniper kept his usual habits of scanning the area. He would never have his weakness of being tired be taken advantage of. He would safeguard safety until he had no more fight left in him.

“Hello,” a woman approached the table with what looked like an enveloped clasped with both hands to her chest.

The whole team was flabbergasted. Even Sniper was a bit taken aback. For the most part, people in this local town did not socialize with any of the mercenaries. Not that they understood what the mercenaries did. They were just the people from out of town who did some odd jobs and sometimes carried weapons. They had been called a mix of security detail, miners and demolition experts.

Sniper gave her his attention, seeing as she had the steel balls to approach them in the first place. It was clear that she was fully aware of the danger of approaching them too. Her nerves caused her hands to shake, which encouraged her to clutch them against the envelope to her chest even harder. Through her tremors, he could not make out what the envelope was or what it was for.

“Hey!” affable and talkative, Scout was the first one to greet her, with a wrapped hand raised.

“Is it a bad time?” she had a tone on her tongue like she was hoping they might send her away, or otherwise would not be in a bad mood.

“Nah! This is a perfect time! We’re just on our break. You know, getting coffee. It’s really cold up the mountain. It’s like the freaking worst when the blizzard comes in,” the Scout told her, “Not that I’m bothered by the cold. But you know. It’s freaking cold. So that gets the team’s morale down and stuff. Good thing we have coffee here.”

The woman nodded slowly, “Right.” Her tumultuous tremors never ended, and her eyes darted from man to man, perhaps worrying over which one might harm her first.

“Is there a problem?” the Spy spoke up. Despite his affluent abilities for charming even the chastest of women, the man now leaned over an elbow, dark rings around his eyes, with a cigarette hanging from his lip. The café was strictly a no smoking area, but the Spy did not care.

“It’s…um…” she looked down at her hands clutching the envelope to her breast.

“Well?” the Soldier pressed, eager to hear what she had to say.

She looked over them as a group this time, her eyes sweeping across them, “It’s just that…I was wondering…what it would cost for your…services?”

Silence answered as looks were shared. He noticed the Demoman mouthing the word “services” in a questioning manner. Nobody answered him, all of them asking their own questions without any words to speak.

Scout was the one to speak up, “Uh…what are you talking about?”

The woman cleared her throat, “I’m sorry. My name is Meredith. I’m here because I need your help.”

Sniper’s eyes swept across the café. Sure enough, a couple of men in the corner were taking interest in the scene. It was a little too much interest for his liking. For the safety of their jobs, he decided to get to his feet and propose leaving.

“Shift starts in half an hour,” he reminded them simply.

They all grumbled or tried to chug their coffee. The Demoman was sputtering over being burned by his coffee while the Soldier simply kept chugging. Nobody was surprised by the Soldier’s masochistic nature.

“Wait! But…” the woman pleaded, her hands shaking again.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the engineer spoke up as he scooted out of his seat, “We have work to do. If you’re needing assistance then we can perhaps talk another time.” The soft southern accent eased her into silence.

Relieved, Sniper took the lead out the door. The bell jingled as the door knocked it ajar. He ignored the noise as he made his way towards the truck. It was time for them to get their butts back to base and secure their workload anyways.

He let the others load in first, despite arriving at the truck first. He was far more adept than most of them. This meant he could tolerate discomfort and deal with anybody who was having beef with anybody else. Thankfully they all just clambered in sleepily.

“Wait!” he was surprised when little Miss Meredith took his arm, “Please! Hear me out!” Her free hand held out the envelope to him. Behind him the truck started up and he could hear the others jabbering. “This…is all my savings. Up front. Everything I’ll have for the next ten paychecks is yours. If you’ll please…please listen.”

He frowned. He did not like being interrupted in his work. This was a very unprofessional way to handle things. It was on par with begging.

“I know you’re at least one of the security detail. I know you’re the one with the rifle,” she said, with such assurance in her own words that he had to give her credit for her attentiveness.

“I don’t see how any of that information is relevant,” he stated firmly.

“I need your help,” she pleaded, “I need you to kill my ex-husband.”

He blinked at her from behind the gold tinted aviators. He needed a moment after being blasted with that all too sweet tone and a plea as direct as that.

“What?” he asked.

In his bewilderment, he did not have a chance to catch himself as the truck took off. He bellowed out to the truck, but it kept going, moving away from him until he was left behind. He cupped his hands around his mouth to holler for them to come back, but it was no use.

He stood there in the freezing cold. He watched as the truck disappeared into the distance, heading up the winding road that led to the cold mountain pass. He could just imagine how they were laughing together, completely oblivious to his lack of presence among them. They would probably not realize it until they arrived at the base.

Grumbling, he turned and headed back to the café. There was no way up the mountain from here. Most townspeople only had vehicles to take them to the next town, and none of them trusted his sort. There were no taxis or shuttles here either. Walking was completely out of the question as he would be dead halfway up the mountain.

“Would you consider it if there was more to offer? I can save up more, if I need to,” Miss Meredith was following at his heels as he stepped back through the glass door.

The cheery warm atmosphere turned dead quiet again. The other patrons were very well aware of his presence here. He ignored the sudden change and returned to the booth where his coworkers had previously been sitting. He slid into the booth and leaned on his elbows. He would have to sit here and wait for them to come back for him.

To his surprise and chagrin, the now plucky little Miss Meredith sat herself down across the table from him. He stared at her, unsure of what to make of the woman. She had appeared out of nowhere to ask for services, bluntly making a plea for him to murder someone, and now she was sat here across from a mercenary looking for his empathy.

“What do you want, lady?” he growled, hoping to scare her.

She swallowed hard, “I want your services.” She was surprisingly much firmer now, probably because he was one man alone and not an entire crew of dangerous men. “I want you to…” she paused to look around. She was so conspicuous he wanted to smack her. “I want you to kill my husband,” she whispered.

He rolled his eyes, “Not interested.” He picked up a cold cup of coffee before setting it aside And just to add insult he added, “Crazy lady.”

She pursed her lips tightly. Her eyes filled with moisture and she looked ready to cry. She swallowed and said, “I wouldn’t be coming to you if I was not desperate.”

“To be going around asking people to kill your ex would require you to be desperate,” he was thankful when the waitress finally came over and refilled his mug. She made quick work of clearing away the other cups left behind. “And demented,” he did not even bother with keeping this unheard from the waitress. From this side of things, the woman across from him sounded like a delusional creature.

“How could you say such a thing?” she pleaded through tears that overflowed.

He rolled his eyes as he sipped the black coffee. He did not care about the taste, as the bitterness gave him a more wakeful feeling. He sighed as he let the heat roll down his gullet to his belly. It would be a long wait for the crew to return for him, but at least he had a warm café with hot coffee to wait it out.

“You don’t even know what I’ve been through!” her voice rose in pitch.

“You’re right,” he sipped his hot coffee. It burned his tongue, but it was too soothing for him to care, “And I don’t care. Bye bye now.”

She scoffed. She clearly expected this conversation to go differently. He was not giving her the time of day though, as he began sipping on his brew again.

With a fit of anger fueling her, she stormed off. He was glad when she exited the building. Finally, he could enjoy his cup of coffee in peace. He could not believe that it was somehow so hard to ask for.

He waited for hours, but no truck came. Eventually he had to pay for his coffees and leave. He wandered out into the cold and shivered. It had been nice in the café, and it was nicer in the noon than it had been this morning. However, the frost bit at his nose harshly.

He pulled his scarf tight around his neck. The sun was high overhead, but it lazed back on its duty to cut through the striking cold. He would have to tolerate it for a few hours more. At least, he hoped it was only a few hours more.

In the damn wind he heard a voice. As nobody spoke to the mercenaries in town normally, it was safe to assume it was not meant for him. He started walking to keep the blood flowing. Movement would help his body temperature and keep him from his icy death in this one horse town.

“Hey, Mister!” a woman’s voice called. He ignored it as he kept going. It was probably a call out to one of the older men who shuffled out of the café. “Mister!” the voice repeated, just as a hand grabbed his arm.

He turned to see the same woman as before. Her face looked done up like it had not before. Long dark lashes looked so real that he would have mistaken her for a natural beaut if he had not seen her before this. Her skin looked much smoother and prettier, with a gentle hint of blush on the cheeks. The way she blinked those lashes made her eyes look so big. Or was that because of the dark lines around her lids? He was sure that they had not looked so big before.

She clung to his arm, as if they had left the café together, “Have you considered my proposal?”

He made a disgruntled noise at the back of his mouth. He knew what she was talking about, but after getting a face-full of doe-eyed snow white with a hint of some charming perfume, his mind did do a backflip into the idea that she was propositioning him for a call. Turning his mind back to what she had demanded of him before, he thought about throwing this little thought in her face, just to agitate her a little.

“Look,” she pleaded, raising the envelope which he assumed held money, “If it’s the money, I can get you more.”

“I don’t want your money,” he was nowhere close to thirsty for a second job.

“I…I please…I’m desperate!” she pleaded, her acrylic nails digging through his coat.

He was surprised that it was not thick enough to dissuade her claws. He gave his arm a disgruntled shake to remove her. He also gave a growl for emphasis, just to remind her that he did not want to be clung to.

“I’m not interested,” he told her firmly, taking a step to the side to distance himself.

“Hear me out?” her weak voice came out in a squeak.

“I’m hardly the hearing you out type,” he protested.

“My husband…he…” she whimpered slightly.

“Now wait a moment,” he raised a hand, “Is he your ex or your husband? Which is it, lady?”

She swallowed, “We are going through the process of a divorce.”

“Alright, so he _will be_ your ex. You’ll be done with him and that’ll be the end of it,” he insisted.

“No! No!” she protested a bit loudly, “He has my kids! He has my children!”

“Aren’t there laws about that?” he shrugged, “It’s not my problem you lost your kids. Tell a judge.”

“You don’t understand,” she pleaded, “The judge gives him fifty-fifty custody.”

“Don’t know what that means,” he shook his head.

“It means he still has them at his house now,” she nodded to him, “And…and I know…I know that when they’re at his house…he’s…” She chirped, a gasping noise as she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. She dabbed at her eyes, though they did not seem very moist at the moment. “My children are in danger,” she looked back up at him, “He’s a very nasty man, you see. He doesn’t want a woman. He wants my babies.”

Sniper always considered himself a professional man. He was not the type of man to fly off the handle. Only an idiot went so far as to take personal interest in something that would drive them to beat a wife over the head with a trophy. But this…this made him feel sick.

“There’s no other way,” she insisted, “If he’s gone…I can have my kids back.”

“And he won’t be able to hurt them,” he grunted.

“Right,” she nodded.

“Show me where this bloke is,” he said, rubbing his hands to gain some friction against the cold.

He left the woman at the corner. She was supposed to stay away. In fact, she was supposed to go far away. Killing or no killing, it would look suspicious for her to be walking around her divorcing husband’s neighborhood clinging to the arm of a man who looked like he could kill. Not that anybody knew anything about that, to them he was just some security detail.

He had no rifle to do the job. He was disappointed about that. It would have to be something a little closer to the home. So, he waited until the man went outside to cut the grass. It seemed like a difficult task to handle, but he made this work by sneaking through a neighbor’s yard to the back of the house. With the would-be divorcee having left the front door unlocked, unwary of what might happen, the Sniper snuck quietly across the porch and slipped into the door.

This was a little more work than he liked, but at least it was easy. This man was none the wiser about anything happening around him. So, while he cut his grass, the Sniper had free range of the house to find a decent place to hide.

The children at the drop of four o’clock. The chime of the old grandfather clock was clear as day as the kids fumbled into the house. Dressing down to their base clothes, they tossed all of their warm garments on the floor to run and play. It was left to their father to pick up the slack.

When the grandfather clock chimed at six o’clock, the man called his children to the dinner table. He set plates and all of his prepared dishes out. His carefully planned feast smelled like a proper banquet as they all gathered there.

The father looked nervous as they sat around the table. He hesitated, which put the kids at unease. Eventually, he finally started to say grace. It was nothing special, as the kids made a ring around the table with their arms in a hand-holding display that would have confused the Soldier for his mixed up understandings of American culture.

A knock came at the door. It must have been six o’four. The man breathed a sign of relief and rushed to the door simultaneously. He threw the door open in order to admit his visitor. Trussed in the warmest coats, a man in boots tromped into the foyer. As soon as the door closed behind him, he began to strip away the layers.

“I am sorry for being late,” the guest said with a sigh, “My car took a detour on the ice.”

The man of the house smiled so brightly that his eyes began to shine. “No worries, you’re right on time!” he hopped onto the balls of his feet as he pressed a sweet little kiss to his guest’s cheekbone.

The dinner proceeded with a plate prepped for the guest. As soon as he sat down, the kids were all a chatter, unfazed about the surprise guest. There was enough information going around for the Sniper to get some things very clear.

This guest worked at a bank in a city down the mountains. He made regular visits to this town to visit these kids and their father. He was not a very sporty person, but was making an effort by promising to attend the eldest boy’s baseball game. The father was discussing becoming the coach of the team the following year.

When dinner was finished and cleared away, the family proceeded to bed. The eight o’clock chime only just rang as they all finally closed the doors upstairs. And so Sniper quietly slipped from hiding and crept up the stairs. He paused in a crouched position by a door. There was a faint light pouring out, but he was attracted to the voice.

“…don’t wanna go to mom’s!” a girl protested.

“I know, sweetheart,” the father said with a reluctant sigh, “She is still your mother.”

“My wrist is still purple though,” the girl whined.

“Let me see it,” the man said. Sniper listened intently, assuming the girl was showing him her wrist. “It’s…it’ll heal up soon,” the fake tone sounded like it was biting around a fake smile, “Don’t worry honey.”

“I don’t want to go,” the girl protested, “I want to stay the weekend with you!”

“Your mother has custody rights,” the father said, “Judge says. And what the judge says goes.”

“But mom doesn’t listen to the judge,” the girl replied.

“What’d she do?” the man asked with a reluctant sigh. He sounded as done with the girl’s protests as Sniper had been with the mother’s.

“Remember how you said? You said the judge said we gotta be able to finish our homework? Well, Jimmy didn’t go play outside like mom said. Mom made him sit in the corner for hours for saying a naughty word!”

“That sounds…like much,” the father sounded hesitant, “I’ll talk to your mom about it. Okay honey? You get some sleep.”

Sniper knew he would be in a world of hurt if he did not get out of there quickly. There was another man in the house and who knew if they kept a bat or a gun by the nightstand. He hurried down the stairs as quietly as he could manage. As soon as he was around the corner, he stopped to listen for footsteps and doors.

When he was sure that he was in the clear, he slipped through the back door. It was icy outside. The wind whipped at his body and he was immediately worried about catching his death. It was no concern of catching a cold, he was sure it was colder than zero degrees, where he could easily die as a human popsicle.

He hurried from the back of the house and rushed off. He was in a hurry, not just to find a place to rest where he would stay warm, but also to keep himself warm. Ice would be his death if he stopped moving.

The morning brought a bright sun. Sniper headed out of hiding into the sunshine. Sunrise was only just awakening, but he had a good idea about what he was going to do. When he approached the city building, he was unsurprised that it was locked up. Nobody would be around for maybe two or three hours. That would afford him some time to dig around.

Papers were everywhere. There were filing cabinets without any proper labels beyond the alphabetical letters placed on them. Digging brought him through papers of people who had long since gone. If one were to only dig through these papers, they would think this was a city bustling full, rather than a small town.

It must have been a moment of clarity. Surely there had been some sort of clerical error in searching through masses of paperwork. But when he found the picture, he was sure of his mark. Dates and labels listing records from police calls and hospital reports filled this file. It was chock full of information about the kids and how much they endured. From broken bones to wounds infested with maggots due to neglect, these children had a record that defied their smiles and warm happy life in their father’s home.

He made sure he was in the clear, before he snuck out of the building though. He did not want to be caught. Already, he could hear somebody approaching the building, but he was already out the back. Other than the little bits of mess he left behind, they would be none the wiser about his little trip to their office.

Meanwhile, he had a target to track down. With the information in his hands, he now had a better idea of where he was going and what he was doing. He decided that this was an important target, and he would not be taking a payment for this one.

Sniper arrived at a small house on the far end of town. Like every other house, it was covered in snow. Though, this one failed to have its icy drive cleared away. The vehicle looked rather snowed in, trapping it in its place. He wondered if the residents regularly left their house looking uninhabited.

He did not approach the front door. Instead, he crept around the side to the back. Quiet as he could be, he found a locked back door that looked fairly used. A floor mat placed before the door said welcome. So he welcomed himself to turn it over. He chuckled when he found a spare key just sitting there, waiting for him.

He let himself into the house, immediately greeted by warmth. It felt like tension melted off his bones as he closed the door behind himself. He listened, not wanting to let down his guard. It had been an exhausting night and the cold took a lot out of him. He would not be taken by surprise regardless.

“Hello?” a small voice chirped from the next room.

He proceeded, file in hand, to the sitting room. A small radiator sat at the opposite end of the room, complementing the already hot fire in a fire place. The room was so cozy he could have slumped into a couch and slept there.

The small figure occupying the couch leaped to her feet. Her eyes were wide and she looked rather pale now. She blinked and looked around.

“How did you get in here?” she asked, so disbelieving that he let out a laugh.

He procured the gold tinted key in his hand, “You left it open for anybody to come in.”

“Give me that!” she closed the distance between them and snatched the key away.

“It’s just open like that,” he set the file onto the coffee table, giving the mug of coffee some distance in case it spilled over, “Asking for you to be burgled or murdered.”

“Okay, I get it,” she huffed in frustration as she tucked the key into a pocket, “Did you do it? Is it finished? W-”

He stopped her with a wave of a hand, “I got my target.”

Her eyes lit up and she grinned broadly, “Oh perfect! I…I have the payment for you. Just a minute.” She turned and headed towards a room where he could plainly see a dining table.

He reached out, grabbing a hold of her arm tightly. She spun to face him with a gasp of surprise. She scrabbled at his hand with weak fingers, trying to pry free of his grip. It always seemed to surprise people that he had such a strong grip. What did you expect of an Aussie?

“Let go!” she exclaimed, “You’re hurting me!”

“That’s the point,” he grabbed the back of her neck with his free hand.

She let out a frightened sound that did not have a meaning so much as a phonetic sound. She immediately began to thrash, her arm twisting and trying to pull away. She had no idea what to do about the hand on her neck, so she was just focused on her arm.

He used the hand on her neck to pull her back, removing her balance. As she fell back he stepped into place behind her. She fell back against him, gasping in the terrified way a prey animal did in the grasp of a lion.

She did not make another sound. There was no scream in the throes of death. There was nothing triumphant about it. He simply grabbed her head with both hands and quickly snapped it around until he heard the telltale crack of her spine.

He let her drop like that. Her eyes were still wide and her mouth gaping in fear. She had no chance against a killer mercenary. She had hired him to kill, so she should have realized that this was a very real possibility.

To add insult to injury, he opened up the file and let the papers spill across the floor around her. Eventually she would be found, but not yet. She would be found when somebody grew curious. She would be found amidst the evidence of her crimes and injustices as a mother and abuser.

Sniper found himself comforted with the coffee the café was serving. It was just another day of trying to wake up and feel warm. The snow outside glistened in the sunshine, though there was no heat to melt it. Still, he thought it was a rather beautiful day for a successful hit.

The rumble of a truck’s engine and the scratch of tires braking over the slippery ice caught his ear. He peeked out the window and recognized the van. He dropped some money on the table for his coffee and proceeded out the door. He strolled across the spans between the café and the van in silence, listening to the way his boots crushed the snow.

As he approached, the back doors flew open and the Scout came fumbling out. He straightened up and looked the Sniper in the face with a stupid grin. It was not the kind of confident grin he usually had. There was something in the way of nervousness when Scout confronted Sniper.

“Hey Sniper!” the Scout raised a hand in greeting, “How ya been?”

“Get in the truck, you mongrel,” he clambered up into the truck and sat himself down on a crate. With much disgruntled muttering from the Scout, the van was loaded up and proceeded on its way up the mountain once again.


	2. When Old Things Stick Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Wholesome Content
> 
> The one where Heavy has a ewe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated with a picture :3

The crunching of snow was the only sound on the gentle breeze. It was a pleasant day to be out on a stroll. Heavy tucked his scarf back as he resumed his walk. He was not just out here for a casual stroll though.

He glanced over his shoulder, just to be sure nobody was coming. It was so clear out that it would have been obvious if somebody had followed him. He was in the clear to do whatever he wanted out here.

He slipped down a slope that would normally bother him. He had grown accustomed to it though and was ready for the force of his landing. He straightened out the coat and shook off the snow that got on his back.

As he shook off the snow, he made his way across the snowy boarded walk. It was a deck of sorts, giving a sturdy platform to the old shed. He pulled aside the latch that allowed the door to swing out. He pushed it aside to let as much light in as possible. The stench hit him and he knew it needed to be cleaned and aired out.

He stepped into the straw bedded shed and turned his head to the other end of the shed. Hopping to four hooves, a sweet little “maa” greeted him. The old sheep scampered to him, butting her head against his leg.

“Good girl,” he rubbed her head as he took the lead from the hook high on the wall. He tied it to her collar and stepped out onto the deck.

With much delight, she stumbled out into the sunshine. She fumbled around him, stumbling about and hopping with ambling steps. She snorted several times, shaking her head as she went around and around him.

He patiently unraveled the lead, letting her have her fun. He stepped out into the snow, leaving plenty of slack in the lead. She followed at her own pace, ambling and hopping into the cold white ground.

The sheep followed along as he walked. He moved more slowly, as the old sheep ambled about. She was directionless, hopping right to look this way, then left to slam her head into his thigh. Then she would run out ahead of him, though it was more of a quick stumble.

He followed her now, letting her amble along the snow. It was fairly flat in this area, and he was certain it was safe enough. She could fumble about to her heart’s content in the sunshine.

After a good long hour of this, he brought her back to the shed. There was a post nailed to the deck by the wall. He used this to tie her lead. She could have a bit more sunshine but would not be able to get into trouble.

He stepped back into the shed and grabbed the shovel to start scooping. He started by just getting all of the old straw and feces out of the shed, tossing it beyond the wooden deck. Once the bedding was out, he left the shed to dry. He began shoveling outside to bury the manure. Over time, the snow could bury it, but he preferred to get it down deep into the earth. If he could help it, he wanted to cover any signs or smells.

After he was satisfied with the dirt patch covering the old straw, he stepped back inside the shed. Much of the place was closed up. It had to be boarded to protect her from the iciest chills. The mountains were not kind to an old sheep.

On one side of the shed was a door, which led into the other side. He was not sure what this used to be, but he had had to make a makeshift door to keep her out of it. The door did not reach higher than his chest, as it was only meant to keep her out while she was living here.

Inside this second room was his storage full of food. He started with the straw though, wanting to make her a nice, clean, warm bed. He was careful about how he placed the bedding, making sure it was not too tight for her not to soften it. It was also not so scattered out that it would not protect her old bones.

Once he finished with the straw, he turned to the wooden water trough. He had nearly forgotten about it. It was hard to keep water from freezing up here. He worried sometimes that she might need water.

He tested it with his fingers. It was not freezing, but it was cold. He thought he should rectify this eventually. Right now he had to finish his work here.

He stepped back into the feed room and gathered some hay. He placed this separate from the straw, so that she would separate the area for her food, which sat by her water trough, from her main place of comfort.

One more trip to the feed room and he gathered a few ingredients. They were special things he bought from the feed store on advice from a farmer. He put these in her bowl and started his trek back up to the base.

He kept a wary eye out. He was not sure his coworkers would know what was going on, but he also thought they would find it weird that he had things like oats in a weird tin bowl. If so much as one character got curiosity about it, he would have to start evading their questions.

He must have looked like he was not busy, filling a bowl with warm water, when Scout came up to him. A hand touched his shoulder and he could see the younger man trying to peer around him at the bowl. Heavy knew he could not see it, because Heavy was a big man with enough breadth to keep the other’s eyes at bay.

“What you got there, Heavy?” Scout asked, curiously.

“Is bowl,” Heavy stated, as he turned off the water. He turned, keeping his body between Scout and the bowl. This bowl was not for Scout, it was for little old ewe.

“What’s in it? Besides the water,” Scout asked.

“Is bowl,” he replied as he headed out the door.

Thankfully, his teammate did not pursue the questions. He left Heavy to walk to the last place he left the big bucket. It was right there waiting for him. He brought this with him back to the kitchen to fill the bucket with warm water. It would eventually cool from the temperatures, so he did not worry about how hot it got.

“Howdy partner,” the Engineer’s voice was very familiar.

“Hello, comrade,” Heavy turned his head to give the Engineer a greeting nod.

“What you got there?” the Engineer asked.

Heavy puffed up his chest with a deep breath, hoping the width would dissuade the Engineer from too many questions. Small men were scared of bigger men. That is the logic of the world.

“You…planning to scrub something?” the Engineer moved closer, just for a curious peek.

“Is bucket,” Heavy answered, “I fill with water.”

“Right…right,” he could see the Engineer nodding from his peripheral vision.

Once the bucket was full, he lowered it from the sink. He held it with one hand and took the bowl with the other. He kept it tucked to his chest, not wanting to bump into something and spill the mushy contents.

He grunted to the Engineer before he proceeded out the door. He did not want to stick around for more questions. Being quiet could help deal with some of them and their questioning, but it only lasted for so long. He knew that and would always be careful of it.

He made his way down the slope. His boots crunched the snow in a very crisp way. The day was so clear that he could still see the two sets of footprints he made before this trip. It was a trail leading right to his ewe.

The slip down was a bit more difficult this time. He chose to get down on his belly and lower the bucket to the lower ground, before he let himself slide down. This way he lost far less water.

He picked the bucket up and brought it to the shed. The ewe was sniffing around the ground and trying to chew on things. She did not have the strength to pull any wood apart, so it was safe to let her explore.

He headed right inside and switched the bucket for the trough. He took it a ways away before dumping it into the snow. When he returned, he emptied the bucket into the trough, watching as steam rolled up from it.

He took the bowl and returned to the ewe. She could see the bowl and when he lowered it, she could smell it. She wanted to get her snout into it and gobble it up. He chuckled as he fought to pull the bowl away from her nose. He undid the lead and stepped back into the shed.

The ewe came eagerly ambling into the shed again. Her head dropped first to the hay to gather a mouthful, which she immediately dunked into the warm water. Her head moved around, ears perked alertly. He reached out to pet her head, which drew her attention back to him.

Upon seeing the bowl he set down, she launched herself at it. She stumbled and nearly fell before recovering. She straightened herself out, her tail wagging as she began feasting on the delicious mash.

He untied the lead from her collar and gave her one last stroke across her woolen back. He could feel how bony and skinny she was. It was so hard to put weight on her. She was a sad looking thing, but she was old and it was not her fault.

He stepped out of the shed and closed the door behind himself. With the empty bucket in hand, he made his way up the slope to the base again. Despite the work, he felt rejuvenated. It was not like working at work, where he had to lift heavy weights for long periods of time and fight with other men. It was much more refreshing to do this very simple task that kept the old ewe alive.

When he returned the bucket, he passed the Engineer. Ever the friendly American, the Engineer gave him a friendly smile and a nod, “Finished with your bucket of water?”

Heavy let silence answer. Engineer was too smart of a man to out think. Silence would have to do.

The next day was a long day of work. It was exhausting and Heavy was so tired. Still, once he had a sandwich to eat, he remembered his little old ewe was hungry too. He packed an extra sandwich in his pocket and bundled up in a coat before he headed out into the snow.

Today was a flurry. It would not be a good idea to bring the old girl outside. She would be too cold. Her old bones would probably ache in the snow, if they did not ache already. He wanted to keep her comfortable, so he planned to just leave her inside. He already cleaned out the shed the day before anyways, so he did not need her out of the way.

When he opened the door, he was greeted with a little “maa” and the sheep ambled to her feet. She strolled over to rub her head against his pant leg, as if begging him for food. He chuckled at her and gave her a gentle rub to her head.

He headed into the feed room and brought out some hay, which she happily began eating. He realized that she was not using the water. He stuck his fingers in and found that it was almost freezing. She knew it was far too cold to touch that stuff.

With a grumble, he took the trough outside just to dump it in his frustration. He set it back inside and grabbed her bowl. He went into the feed room to put the same mix in the bowl as he did the day before. He paused to give her one last pat, before he closed the door behind him.

He made his way up the slope to the base. He fetched the big bucket and headed to the kitchen. He filled the bowl first and set it aside to soak. Then he began filling the big bucket with warm water.

“I see you’re filling your bucket again,” the Engineer greeted.

“Da,” Heavy replied simply.

“You uh…working on something, partner?” the Engineer inquired, “Got something you’re washing? A project you’re doing?”

“Nyet,” Heavy stated.

“Alright,” the Engineer did not sound all that sated with this answer.

Heavy thought it would just have to do. He lowered the bucket from the sink and hugged the bowl to his chest. He turned and grunted to the Engineer before he proceeded. He did not give him any more information as he headed back into the wintry cold to bring his ewe her water.

When he opened the door, she took no interest in the door. The only interest she had was in food, especially when he placed her bowl on the floor. She loved that mash and she would make a huge mess of her face eating it.

He chuckled as he watched her lick the bowl eagerly in her excitement. He turned to his bucket and dumped it into the water trough. Steam rose up and curled into the air. He only wished it could last longer. If he could keep this water warm longer, at least at a tepid temperature, then his ewe would stay hydrated.

He sighed and turned back to his ewe. He reached over to pet her. She was still as bony as ever. The poor old lady never seemed like she would ever put weight on. At least he could hope and keep her comfortable for the time being. As long as he kept her fed, he was sure she would get to a healthy weight.

His attention was caught by the sound of boots walking across wood. He had not considered being followed today. He did not even look over his shoulder when he came down. He looked at the door and saw the Engineer walking towards it. He stopped there, with his goggles pushed up onto his forehead so he could look around the dimly lit shed. When his eyes landed on the Heavy, his eyebrows moved up a bit, with a silent question.

Heavy kept a hand on his ewe, one foot moving so he could easily get to his feet quickly. He was debating what to do about this possible threat. Killing the Engineer would be easy but disposing of him would not. Others would ask questions, and eventually somebody might go digging around the shed looking for him.

“How long you had this set up?” the Engineer inquired.

Heavy swallowed, “Is just shed.”

“Right,” the Engineer nodded, looking at the old ewe, who happily licked her bowl clean. His eyes turned and something like realization seemed to hit his face. “That’s what the water’s for, ain’t it? Warm water for the ewe.”

Heavy did not say anything. He was wary of what could happen. He was not about to start anything dangerous around the ewe. She was too old and her bones too tired to move if things got rough.

He rose to his feet and started for the door. The Engineer stepped out of the way without hesitation. Before the Heavy could latch the door shut, the Engineer spoke again.

“You forgot your bucket,” the Engineer said.

Heavy glanced at him before stepping back into the shed. He grabbed the empty bucket and stepped back outside. He was surprised when the Engineer was not there, but rather was making his way up to the base. Heavy latched the door shut and started the trek up to base as well.

The Engineer disappeared. The Heavy did not see him around. He decided the man had better things to do and was going to leave well enough alone. Perhaps he was not going to do anything about the ewe in the shed. That would be perfect because Heavy wanted it to be left alone.

The next day came and went by with hard labor at work. He put away his lovely Sasha. He would clean her later. He had more important matters.

He decided not to go down without his bucket this time. It had been foolish before, now he would be sure to take a bucket with him. He filled it up with warm water, so that it was sloshing full. As he made his way down to the shed, he noticed that there was a flurry again. It was not too bad, though the wind was icy cold. The poor old ewe could catch her death if she did not stay warm.

He stopped short of the deck. The door was unlatched and slightly open. It swung a little bit as the wind hit it. Dread struck and he dropped the bucket. He did not care if it sloshed and splashed into his boots.

He threw the door open and took a breath when he saw her munching on hay. She raised her head in surprise and gave a little “amaa” and a snort before resuming her work munching on food. Worried, he tried to rationalize what had happened. Who would have given her food?

His thoughts were cut off by the screaming of a tool. It sounded like it came from the back of the shed, in the feed room. It gave the ewe a scare, but not enough to leave her food.

His heart pounding in his chest, Heavy started slowly towards the feed room door. It was slightly ajar, but not open enough to see inside. He heard boots moving and for a moment, yellow flashed over the top of the door.

He froze, staring at the door as he tried to decide what to do. Somebody was likely messing with all of his feed. He would be forced to get all of that food back from a store and haul it here undisturbed. That would be a lot of work and he was not about to take that laying down.

He was not surprised when the Engineer swung the door out, given he had discovered this shed the day before. The Engineer, however, was surprised to see him. He gave him a smile though, as he wiped his hands on an old towel.

“Well, howdy there!” the Engineer chuckled, “You startled me!”

Heavy remained calm. Today’s confrontation was reversed from before. His ewe was between them and the outside door and he did not want her outside if he could help it.

“What is Engineer doing here?” he demanded.

“Oh, I noticed you have to take a lot of trips to keep the old girl hydrated. It gets real cold. Ought to have something that’ll keep the water from icing over,” the man explained with a big smile, like he was explaining how his sentries worked.

“Hmm?” Heavy frowned. This was a lot different than he had expected.

“Come here,” the Engineer pulled the door open and stepped into the feed room.

He moved out of the way as Heavy stepped in. When he turned, he saw the Engineer’s big metal project. The base of it was a big tank that stood just above Heavy’s head. A ladder had been placed while the Engineer worked on it, making the top of it accessible. The whole thing was already bolted to the wall, holding it upright.

“What is…this?” he asked.

“Well, the base of it’s a water heater,” the Engineer explained, “Seeing as you don’t have runnin’ water down here, it’d require a refill. There’s a lot of storage in there. Just gotta cut a hole for the pipe down there.” He paused to point at an open pipe at the bottom of the contraption. “Then it’ll have a tube feeding into her water trough.”

Heavy’s mouth fell open. He was not awed by the Enginer’s work. He knew the man was a genius. He had done things far more advanced than making a water heater into something meant for an animal.

“Saw that you been fillin’ that trough every day,” the Engineer explained, “Figured it’d be a help to have somethin’ to heat the water for you.” He gave the contraption a pat, which sent a hollow sound through the body. “The old girl won’t be dehydrated neither. No more dumping out the old water.”

“Is…” Heavy did not know what to say. This was something he never would have expected from anybody. And to think it was something he did not have to request at all. “It’s…” h still could not get anything out of his mouth.

“Think nothing of it,” the Engineer stated, before stepping through the door, “Gimme a hand over here? I wanna find the right height for this trough.”

The Heavy stepped out of the feed room to join the Engineer. Heavy grabbed the trough and moved it over, placing it against the wall. The Engineer marked the wall with a pencil, tracing a line at the trough’s lip. When the Engineer nodded, Heavy moved the trough out of the way. When he turned back, the Engineer had marked a sloppy circle just a few centimeters above the line.

“Ah, I forgot my drill,” the Engineer headed back into the feed room and returned with an electric drill. It was covered in wires and something Heavy rationalized must have been a battery pack. The drill bit was odd though, with a big mouth-like claw instead ofa twisting protrusion.

He placed the drill bit to the marked circle and activated the drill. It was loud and annoying. It disturbed the ewe. So Heavy turned to give her a little attention, hoping she might calm down.

When the drill stopped and Heavy turned back to the Engineer, there was a perfect hole in the wall and the Engineer was scraping away wood debris. He shook his head in disappointment though, like something was off about it.

“Not the right angle,” was all Heavy could make out before the man tilted his drill and began drilling again.

When he finished cleaning out the hole with a towel, the Engineer returned to the feed room. There was a bit of scuffling and Heavy heard the clang of metal on metal. He shot up to his feet and started towards the door.

“Mind holding this from your side?” the Engineer called.

It did not take him long before he noticed the pipe protruding through the hole. He crouched down to hold the pipe. All the while, the Engineer was twisting and pulling as he worked on it. He assumed he was tightening down something to hold it in place.

“Alright,” the Engineer came scuffling around to Heavy’s side to look at the pipe. He pulled a yellow tape out of his pocket and placed it against the pipe, with the end pressing against the wooden wall. He took out a pencil and read the marks before making the mark he wanted.

He rose to his feet, returning the tape and pencil to his pocket. He went to the feed room and had switched the drill out for a different tool. It was also electric and had what Heavy assumed to be a battery pack. He put one hand on the base of the pipe as he brought the blade down to where the pencil mark was. This tool sounded louder to Heavy than the drill had. He rationalized that it was because it was cutting through metal, rather than wood. Wood was much softer than metal.

When he was finished, the Engineer cleaned up the end of the pipe with a rag. He smiled at his work and went to move the trough under it. He put his hands on his hips, smiling proudly at it.

“Guess that’ll do!” the Engineer turned to him, “You bring any water?”

Heavy hummed. He had lost the water from the bucket outside. He was not sure he wanted to admit that, especially not after finding out that the Engineer had no bad intentions and built this thing for the ewe.

“Don’t worry about it,” the Engineer shook his head, “We can just get some snow from outside.”

Heavy frowned and tilted his head. Snow? The snow of all things? It took him an extra moment to realize that if snow was heated in the machine, it would turn into water.

“Let’s go gather some snow and get this trough full of warm water,” the Engineer suggested.

Heavy stepped outside to grab the bucket. He said nothing as he began stuffing it with snow. He did not get the snow from nearby. He went to areas where he knew he had not buried manure or anything like that. He returned to empty this snow into the chute at the top of the machine the Engineer installed. The two of them shoveled and scooped snow like this for a while, while the machine started humming to life.

When they decided there was enough snow packed in, the Engineer took the trough to stuff it under the pipe.The way it was positioned left the end of the pipe low in the trough.

“Will this not be problem?” Heavy asked, gesturing to the pipe.

“The pipe’s getting warm,” the Engineer explained, “It’ll be enough to keep the water from going cold once the trough is full.”

Heavy reached down to touch the pipe. It was very warm. He supposed this would be good dipped into water, giving it some heat to avoid freezing.

The Engineer went into the feed room to turn a valve. Water started to flow. Heavy watched as it filled the trough. The Engineer returned to say, “Let me know when to turn it off.” Heavy gave him a thumbs up.

Heavy watched the water fill the trough. When he was sure it was full enough, he called out, “Okay, turn off water.”

The valve squeaked as the Engineer turned it off. Slowly, the water stopped rising, resting in place. Heavy reached a finger in and was pleased with how warm the water was. Perfect, his sheep would be safe and hydrated from now on.

When the Engineer returned from the feed room, he shut the door behind himself. Heavy rose to his feet to confront the Engineer, “Thank you.”

The Engineer grinned, “Not a problem, friend.”


	3. Lone Cowboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Spy spies a cowboy

A cold beer felt nice going down. It must have been ages since the last time he let his guard down to have something more than a sip of wine. Wine would always be by far the better taste, but it was nice to just let loose and let down his guard. The team was drinking happily around tables. The louder of them were laughing, hooting, hollering and wrestling.

As he scanned the room, his eyes fell upon a figure looming silently in the corner. The jukebox kicked up with a new song as the man slipped back into his relaxed position. It was hard to tell what was going on with his face, while his hat tipped down. Those boots were just as dirty as every other common worker’s boots, but they were clearly snakeskin, and those scales caught light. He wore the same working clothes as any of the working locals here, but on his belt he added a big shiny buckle that gleamed like new. The dirt and grime showed on the beaten hat, yet the man still wore it like it was a big white Stetson.

He was not unfamiliar with the looks of a cowboy. But here in the mountains they were far from the vaqueros of the south. He stuck out only slightly, and mostly for his hat. Most people were looking at his hat, almost with jealous eyes as they covered their balding heads with ball caps or snow hats.

He wondered how long the man had been in town. He was certainly not from around here, given his outlandish appearance in this place. Yet he was dressed up for labor, as if he had been out working fields. Perhaps he was new and had not figured out that his southern farm boy style did not match with the mountain country man’s style.

He had no idea what the song was saying, since he was not paying attention. He could only recognize the twang of some Tennessee drawl over the speakers. And as the woman’s voice lilted and the guitar twanged, the stranger began to tap his knuckle against the jukebox to the beat. His hat tilted up as his face rose and that big crooked grin became visible.

Spy almost stared openly as the man’s teeth shone from beneath his hat, revealing a cigarette, a thin scar along one side of his chin and dark skin. He was nowhere near as dark as the Demoman, but still stuck out among the pasty white, mountain men who saw little of the sunshine in these harsh winter months. If anything, he looked like he had ridden in with the sun and got stranded by the blizzards.

“Hey tex!” a voice got the man to jerk his head up.

The brow band’s color shifted in the light, giving away its snake origins. It did not match the boots, but it looked more real than the boots. The Spy wondered if it was a handmade one, skinned by the cowboy himself.

“Where’d you park your horse?” a voice called out to the cowboy.

The cowboy gave a shrug and turned his attention back to the jukebox. He leaned over it, like he thought himself a cool cat with nothing to worry on but the next song’s coin. He returned to smiling and tapping his knuckle against that jukebox.

Spy turned his attention back to his beer. Wetting his throat felt satisfying. Everybody else was drunk, so he was likely to not even need his senses about him tonight. He would just let himself get just past that happy buzz tonight. He was surrounded only by non-offending idiots here in the local bar.

When the bar doors slammed, the bar did not go quiet. Films to depict some important person coming in and stealing the spotlight always seem to forget that men in a bar are drunk and stupid. Well, Spy was not stupid and made sure to check the reflective surface of a liquor bottle to see who the obnoxious contender was.

The flash of an official police badge raised the hairs on his skin and he pushed his beer away. So much for letting his guard down. He turned to look at his coworkers, all of whom were laughing and generally directing their violent tendencies towards each other. To a civilian they were crazed lunatics, slamming each other and wrestling like they were made of steel. Knowing them, this was just their way of having fun and blowing off steam.

His eyes jolted to the man – or rather men, since another officer entered behind him – and he watched them survey the room. When the first officer, a man with a mustache so thick it could hold its own against Saxton Hale’s mustache, turned to him he raised his beer, acknowledging them with a tears and giving a smile to portray some level of being drunk. Officers did not want drunk witnesses, they wanted to talk to men who were not inebriated. They would go the smart route and find somebody who did not look quite so out of it. At least, if they were looking for witnesses.

He breathed carefully, reminding himself to breathe as he watched the officers turn their attention to the other side of the room. As they made their way around the drunken laughter, he quickly tried to decide who they were looking for. They passed Scout so he was safe. They did not bother with Heavy, so he was safe. They did not even look towards the Soldier and Demoman wrestling like idiots. They did not worry about the Sniper, who was startled by a drunk local and ended up putting the man on his back.

None of his colleagues were even considered by either of the officers, as they made their way to the corner with the jukebox. Spy watched with flagrant interest as they approached the cowboy. Now aware that he was being approached, the cowboy put his attention on the officers. He let on no form of worry, still smiling giddily as he tapped on the jukebox.

His lips moved to form something along the lines of, “Can I help you, officers?”

Spy could not even see the officers’ faces from this vantage. He would have to move closer to try and hear them. If he did that, he might be too obvious. He was aware of how much he had to drink, and it was worrying to think he might have already let his guard down too far to consider anything close to a spy’s work.

Still, he thought he might try it. Instead of going towards the jukebox, he approached his teammates. He decided that if he could not blend in with the shadows, he would blend in among the clearly-not-from-around-here crowd that was made of his teammates. And so, with his beer in hand, he plopped down at the table being used by the Soldier and the Demoman and set his elbow on the table. He raised his hand, meeting the Demoman’s gleaming eye with an unspoken challenge.

Demoman took him up on the challenge without question. If they thought it was suspicious, they said nothing. In fact, the Demoman immediately grinned and began trying to slam Spy’s hand down. Soldier on the sidelines was cheering, slamming his fist on the table with excitement for the sport.

It was a difficult struggle to wrestle this man. He was a strong individual who could hold his own in a bar fight. However, he was a better choice than Soldier because he had already had more to drink than anybody. Having finished an entire bottle of whiskey and having sipped some vodka before they even arrived at the bar, the Demoman was not in full control of his muscles anymore.

“Come on, maggot!” the Soldier cheered excitedly, though it was unclear who it was for.

Nearby, he could just barely make out voices over the cheering, “You need to come downtown with us.”

“Downtown?” the man did not sound Texan. Rather, he sounded more closer to Tennessee or Kentucky than anything. “What do you mean downtown? Is that your word for police station?”

Spy was struggling with the wrestling. The Demoman was starting to push his hand down towards the table. He no longer had leverage and the Demoman was close to gaining his second wind. He wanted to keep it going so he could sit here longer.

“We need you to come answer some questions,” the first officer said firmly. Spy decided that this was probably the man with the thick mustache, since he sounded like he had a thick mustache.

“You can ask me right here! Or we can step outside if it’s too loud,” the cowboy offered, “I’m not feeling like giving up my night off.”

Spy grunted as the Demoman caught his second wind. His pride was hurt more than his hand when his knuckles slammed against the table. The Soldier and Demoman laughed, before the Soldier started chanting for him to drink. As if it did not occur to him that he was not supposed to, the Demoman slammed down his own drink.

Spy accepted his defeat by taking a few gulps of his beer. Hopefully the effects would not set in before he had satisfied his curiosity. He did not get up from his seat yet, setting down his drink and rubbing his hand like he had been wounded. All the while, he listened for anything more from the cowboy’s discussion.

“If you had nothing to hide, then you’d come answer our questions,” the second officer said. He must have been the sneakier of the two, using a manipulative tactic like that.

“Nah, sir,” the cowboy sounded amused, “If’n you had something to suggest I knew anything or did anything, you’d have a warrant. I don’t know how warrants to make me talk would work. But I’m not about to miss my turn at the arm wrestle.”

Without missing a beat, the cowboy approached the table. Spy was stunned. The others were a little confused, staring at the stranger to dared to approach the outlandish men who worked up the mountain.

When something happens that is out of the ordinary it catches peoples’ attention. When they realize something has happened that could start something good or bad that is when they turn their heads. And when something occurs that nobody thought was feasibly logical to do without getting one’s head ripped off, they turned their full attention to it.

So when the cowboy sat down at the table with the men who were known for physical prowess and violent tendencies, almost the whole bar went silent. It was a gradual process as only a few noticed at first. The rest eventually turned their heads to see what was going on. Aghast as the cowboy’s audacity, they looked at the scene as the cowboy unbuttoned and rolled back his sleeve before setting his elbow down and offering his hand to Spy.

Soldier laughed at this. Demoman let out a snicker. “You’re lookin’ the wrong way, lad. You ken how to do this? It’s the winner you want to beat. If you have a go at the loser, you’re proving nothing at all!” the Demoman laughed out before taking another drink.

The cowboy stared at the Demoman, as if he spoke outlandishly. He blinked a few times, before he looked back at the Spy. He shook his head slowly and said, “I have no idea what he just said.”

Soldier broke down into laughter. Demoman looked on in confusion. The cowboy just kept looking at Spy.

“Sir, we need you to come with us,” the police officers approached the cowboy from behind, though it was clear why. They wanted the cowboy, but stepping anywhere around them would put them closer to the men from up the mountain.

The room got silent, before shuffling could be heard. Spy glanced over his shoulder and noticed a small group of men shuffling their way out the door. Nobody wanted to be here. He imagined it was terrifying.

“Sir?” the mustached man pressed.

“I ain’t had my wrestle yet,” the cowboy painted his grin as his eyes gleamed.

Spy placed his elbow on the table and took the hand. Glove in glove they clasped for a moment before they began to strain against each other’s strength. The other man was strong and Spy did not doubt he was built well enough to slam his hand down like Demoman had.

Suddenly, all of the tension dropped. Spy was clear to slam the hand down. He was shocked halfway through the motion, but was unable to stop the momentum. His comrades cheered as the cowboy’s knuckles hit the table. He frowned as he released the hand and looked the cowboy in the eyes.

The cowboy kept that grin and rubbed his hand, “You sure got a strong hand there.”

Spy narrowed his eyes. No he did not. He was not weak, but he was not up to par with most of his colleagues. This cowboy having a fit physique should have been at least more of a fight.

Movement caught his eye and he looked at the officers shrugging at each other. They did not have a warrant. They did not have any sort of probable cause. And they had a room full of _potentially_ dangerous men. Potential was important to note, because the locals did not actually know what mercenaries like them were capable of. The mercenaries never caused any _real_ trouble for the locals.

The cowboy reached for an unopened bottle sitting on the table. It was meant for Soldier and Demoman’s match, since the price one paid was another swig. Spy snatched it up, glancing over to see that the officers were leaving for good.

He popped the top off of the bottle, using the edge of the table. When he returned his gaze to the cowboy, he looked amused and curious. He was leaning over the table, as if intrigued.

Spy took a long swig of the alcohol. It was the cheap kind, weak with a bad taste. It was not the kind they usually sold here in this bar. It was gross but at least he was not about to become drunk fast drinking this.

“I’m pretty sure, as the loser, I’m the one who is supposed to be drinking that,” the cowboy pointed to the bottle.

“If you want cheap beer, go to the store,” Spy slammed the bottle down, “Don’t throw a match in a bar.”

The cowboy tilted his head, “Throw a match? I would never.” His voice was so playful that Spy wanted to smack him.

“At least you removed suspicion from yourself in front of those officers,” the Spy mused, “But I don’t think you’re that clever. You have no idea what you’ve walked in on.”

It was then that both Spy and the cowboy realized that even his colleagues had gotten quiet. The others had moved closer. They were all curious about the cowboy who had sat down at their table and so wittingly joined in a match. There was certainly nothing volatile about it, from what Spy could see. It was genuine curiosity about something that would never happen with locals.

The cowboy looked around at each of them. He seemed almost mystified as his vibrant golden eyes took them in. It was almost amusing watching him ponder over what he was dealing with.

“Boys, we better saddle up and get a move on,” the Engineer’s crisp voice cut through the silence.

There were grumbles in response. Most of the others did not like the idea of having to leave their fun. They had just gotten started. Even Spy was a little disappointed. Though, when he looked at the Engineer, with that hardened look, he thought maybe it was a good idea to get moving.

Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet. He pulled out his wallet to settle his debt with the barkeep. As he tucked the wallet away, a hand laid on his arm. His body reacted with alarm, his mind instinctively reviewing a checklist of his arsenal.

“You don’t need to go so soon, do you? You can stay and chat over a beer?” the cowboy insisted in earnest.

Spy relaxed slightly as he assured the safety of his wallet and fished out the keys to the van. He was keeping them because he was the only person who could without a doubt make sure they did not lose the important keys.

“Good eve,” Spy slipped from the cowboy’s grasp as he followed the group filtering out of the bar. He glanced at his watch. Ooh boy, it was half past one in the morning. They would all be crashing hard tonight, but at least there was nothing going on the next day. They could sleep in and mostly enjoy their time – at least as well as one can enjoy having a hangover.

They were already all piling into the van. The Heavy was already seated in the driver’s seat, waiting for keys. Spy tossed them through the window to a waiting hand, before climbing in the back. As he reached for the door to close it, he saw the cowboy looking on.

“So long, partner,” he mimicked the Engineer’s drawl as he closed the doors.

He settled in between the Sniper’s crate and the already passed out Scout. The warmth inside the van grew as the bodies in the van stayed in this unventilated machine. He was not sure when his eyes closed, but on the insides of them, he could see the cowboy grinning back at him.

He woke with a start as he was jerked around. He inhaled sharply through his nose and looked around. He was surprised to have dozed off in the van, leaning on the Scout who was now waking up. He hurried to get out of the van and into the cold night air. It gave him a sharp smack that woke him from whatever stupor had put him to sleep.

He meandered off to his room to bury his face in a pillow. He let himself drift into sleep this time, comforted by warm softness. He forgot all about a cowboy.


	4. One Foot in Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Soldier gets caught in a mini avalanche.

The icy tundra made for a dangerous environment. For a fighter like Soldier, this was both a risk and a benefit. It was risky to even step on the ice. It was slippery and turned the ground into a hardened tool of pain. On the other hand, it was beneficial when the enemy started landing hard on the ice.

Soldier also rarely relied on his sight. The battlements were always so loud that even a sneaky sneak became loose with their careful footsteps. They did not think that a battle hardened warrior like himself could take notice of such noises. He could and he would. He always knew when somebody was sneaking up on him, especially when they were not tip toing carefully. They might as well walk in and announce that they were there.

As gleeful as ever, he soared through the skies with every leap his rocket launcher gave him into the air. The heat filled the air around him like a pocket before he was launched up into the cold. His coworkers mostly went unaware of how much colder it was up high. Everybody aside from Demoman remained in the snow below where they could feel safe with gravity. The BLU cowards also felt safer with gravity. That made sense, because they were cowards, of course.

There being lots of ice around made landing much more difficult. It was a tricky thing to get down, landing after a rocket jump. Just doing it on flat dry dirt was difficult enough. But also trying to land on uneven frozen earth covered in layers of snow smoothed over it was even more difficult.

When he came down, his knees hid in the snow. His hidden feat caught the ground and one slipped out from the other. One hand leaped from his launcher to catch himself on the thick snow. His hand almost sank in as he tried to push himself upright. A sharp pain came up from his ankle and his body let him fall over.

“Medic!” he called out, knowing that his body would fight him if he tried to put weight on this injury.

Strangely enough, there was no response to his call. He carefully righted himself, at least enough to look around. It was hard to see, as the storm was picking up. It looked like they were going to be covered in snow by the time they finally beat back the damn BLU scum.

Well, Soldier figured that until he found Medic or Medic found him, he would just have to go on fighting the BLUs. The problem with this plan was that he knew his body would fight him. It would tell him that he was so weak and try to convince him to just quit. He was not a quitter though, no siree. He was not the type of man to stand down when he was beat.

“I’m going to feed those BLUs _their own_ broken feet!” he declared as he righted himself on his feet.

The injured leg protested, refusing to take his weight. It sent a pang up his leg every time he tried to set it down. He winced at the pain, slowly getting a balance of how much pressure to put on each foot. Once he was sure how much pressure he could place on them, he started moving forward. Upon the first steps of his march he realized he had fucked up.

“No!” he exclaimed as he fell into the snow. He grabbed for his boot, pulling his knee up to his chest. “You are weak! You are a bleeder!” he shouted at his foot angrily.

When he righted himself this time, he put his weight on the good foot. This time, he would not march. This time he would bounce. He would find his bearings and hop to the nearest building for stability.

He hopped forward. He smiled when he realized that he could do this. He puffed up his chest and resumed hopping.

“You’ve got this, Soldier!” he encouraged his good foot to keep going.

He took big breaths as he tried to make the hops longer. His leg was making up for the steps of two legs after all. If the hops were longer, then he could get to where he was going much faster.

“Good moves,” he cheered on the good foot to keep it moving.

The landing of each hop was a little slippery. It was difficult to tell for sure what he footing would be in the next few feet ahead of him. However, he was confident that he could handle it. He just had to keep moving. The sooner he reached a place of relative safety, the sooner he could find Medic, or Medic could find him.

“Alright,” he huffed tiredly, “Take a rest, son. Let’s see where-”

When he looked around, all he could see was white. It was wintry white snow that filled the air. It was as if the eagles had dropped ten tons of little white baby eagle tufts to fall on the world. The magical eagle down was covering not only the ground but the air as well, disguising home base from his eyes.

Well, the only way he was getting out of this snow was by moving. He would have to pick a direction and move that way. So, he resumed his hopping, taking to one direction. He had to keep moving in that direction, lest he fall prey to the old story trope of going in circles.

“We are not lost!” he told his feet sternly, “We are on our own path! And that means we are not lost!”

He took deep careful breaths as he kept hopping. It was hard to keep on like this. He was amazed at how much work went into each hop. Each movement was far more frustrating and exhausting than any walk or run he had ever made.

“Come on, son!” he encouraged his good foot, “You can do it! I believe in you! Merasmus would believe in you!”

He took big breaths. He needed to fill his lungs way up to keep this movement going. It was growing harder to breathe though. It was as if the air itself was sharper.

“You may sharpen your knife,” Soldier growled, “But I will be the last-”

He cut off as his foot slipped out from under him. He grunted as he landed in the snow, but he was not sure what to make of the movement anymore. He looked around, but he could not make out any landmarks to help him grasp at where he was. Before he could try to get up, his body slipped right off an edge and he felt gravity claim his body to the air.

“Merasmus! You are getting my good foot up your ass!” he shouted as he fell into another blanket of snow.

His body did not stop moving. He kept sliding along in the snow as if it was carrying him. He started to wonder if it was carrying him. But to where? And for what purpose? Of course he had been right, this could only be the work of Merasmus!

“I will kill you, Merasmus!” Soldier shouted as loudly as he could.

The snow around him shifted and moved, carrying him along a slope. He looked around at the sparse trees passing him by. They groaned and bent, as if they wanted to follow along. They could tell that this was a little bit fun and they wanted to follow Soldier, but they were rooted in place.

“Fat chance, flora commies!” he laughed at them.

He noticed that he was moving faster. He was going to have to find something to stop the momentum soon. He looked around, but the trees were passing him. He could not reach them, even when he tried moving side to side.

“Dammit! Help me out here, you flora commies!”

There was no assistance coming from the damned flora, so he considered his options. There was nobody out over here. Though, others were probably in the same situation as him. He figured somebody was probably also sliding along with the snow at a loss for these damn commie plants.

He would have to save them. It would be up to him to save everybody from the moving snow. So, he hefted his rocket launcher and aimed towards his feet. He was about to fire when he realized that he was at an angle, a wrong angle. Firing the rocket at his feet would not have the desired effect of sending him back up the slope. It would just hit some snow and melt it.

“Dammit!” he raised his feet and tried to use momentum by bringing them back down fast, throwing up his upper body. “Yay!” his victory lasted moments before the ground slid out from under him and sent him tumbling faster on his bottom. “Nooo!”

As the snow pushed him this time, it turned him around. Suddenly, his head was following gravity first and his feet were looking up the mountain side. He looked beyond his boots but he could not make out much beyond the snow that fell.

“Dammit!” he struggled to right himself.

The snow kept moving down the mountain. He was almost sure it was roaring now. Surely something like this was caused by some form of magic. That meant Merasmus was involved. And without a doubt, it was roaring.

“Merasmus, you need to say your prayers when I get my hands on you,” he patted his rocket launcher.

He twisted his body, trying to at least get his feet underneath himself. He continuously failed. The ground would just not hold still. It kept knocking his feet out from under him.

He laid back and stared up at the sky. He could not see much of any actual sky. There was just snow coming own. Then there was snow on his face. Then there was snow in his eyes. He tried wiping it away, but the snow on his gloves only made things worse.

“My eyes! Aaaah!” he cried out, covering his face with the cold snowy gloves, “Merasmus! I am going to kill you!”

His frustration ran him down off a slope onto a rough patch that felt oddly familiar. He slowly pushed himself off his back, finding that his boots could find a hard surface under all of the snow. He put his arms out to steady himself as he gathered his bearings.

He stared at the buildings lining the edge of the mountain foot town. He was not too familiar with the buildings himself, but he realized where this was. In fact, he was not too far from a tavern where he could get a drink to make his anger more drunk when he pummeled Merasmus for procuring a spell for that snow.

In the distance, he thought he could hear screaming. He turned and looked up. The slope of the mountain was very steep, despite his safe descent to the bottom. It would be nearly impossible for a man with a bummed ankle to climb it. But Soldier was not the kind of man who stopped for nearly impossible.

How dare nearly impossible think it could best him? He was a US Soldier and a man of integrity. He had beaten the faces of his enemies in with his own bare hands. And if nearly impossible thought it was going to be dissuading him. Well, he would just be turning this excursion into the completely impossible for his own liking!

He snatched up his rocket launcher and aimed it at his feet. With one good jump, it sent him into the air. It did not feel so high, as he landed on the slope. The moment he landed, he felt the resistance he probably should have been aware of before as his ankle gave away and his forsaken body went tumbling down the snow.

“God, you are going to feel my boot up your ass for this!” he shook his fist at the heavens.

He forced himself off the ground. He took a moment to brush the snow and dirt away. It seemed rocket jumping would not be beneficial with how the strain on his ankle would cause his body to fall down the slope. He would just have to hoof it up. As he looked up the slope, there was a moment of daunting vertigo.

“Shut up brain!” he barked, “I will master this mountain and then it can kill me!”

He shouldered the rocket launcher as he began the first steps up the mountain. He winced in pain but ignored it overall. He had more important things to do, like his American sworn duty to kill this goddamn mountain.


	5. Molto Vivace Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Demoman plays the piano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: death & grief

The soft touch of piano keys filled the mostly empty room. The grandiose piano stood amidst a lot of nothing but crates and chairs. This room was not used for much on a daily basis otherwise, with the occasional rearrangement for big things the mercenaries wanted to do.

With nothing to do, the piano stood alone in this giant storage room. Its keys were smooth to the touch, still ivory white despite the years of use. This old thing showed its age in the wood around it, especially where things could be placed like beer bottles that leave behind rings.

Demoman looked at the piece that he had been following. It was the same old piece he had played so many times that he did not really have to look at it anymore. His fingers knew the keys and his heart knew every note of the song. Still, he kept the thing around. Maybe it was sentimental or something. He was never sure what it meant to him really.

Each measure changed the way the song would go. Sometimes it climbed upwards and sometimes it dipped down. He wondered when he first started learning this song that its wild and long composition had come to be so engrained into his mind.

“Attention! An enemy Spy is in the base!” his fingers slammed on a random mixture of keys as the Administrator’s words cut through the music. He sighed and lowered the cover to the keys.

He rose to his feet, stepping around the bench and tucking it in under the piano. He headed for the door, careful to lock it behind himself to keep the piano safe. No need to leave it exposed for a fight to start up in there. Not that he thought any enemy would take interest in what was mostly a space full of crates and chairs.

He made his way down the hall to the staircase. His workshop was down below where he was generally undisturbed. As soon as he stepped through the door to the staircase, the distant waft of wood laquer, alcohol and chemicals hit his nose. As he reached the foot of the steps, this scent grew stronger.

Boxes of chemical vials and bottles sat opened and ready for use. He passed them for the completed sets, placed in crates lined up near the door for easy access. He grabbed a launcher off the wall hooks and loaded it up. He pocketed as much ammunition as he could take with him, just in case. He doubted he would be needed much for a Spy, since he was not much good against spooky sneaky invisible men. He was better at dealing with larger things, like big gun toting mercenaries and complex machines that enemies set up to take them down.

He grabbed a half full bottle of whiskey from the table and downed what was left. He took a breath at the finish and set the bottle down firmly to ensure it would not fall. He turned and trotted up the stairs, setting his mind to the task at hand.

“Protect the briefcase!” the Administrator announced, “Do not fail me!”

Demoman let out a small burp as he trotted down a hallway. There must have been something very important in that briefcase for a Spy to come in. That or the Spy just wanted to know what it was. That same curiosity itched at Demoman’s mind as well, but he held enough restraint not to act on impulse. At least he thought he could resist the urge to act on impulse.

He was about to turn down a flight of steps when a set of footsteps caught his attention. His head whipped around, but he could see nothing. He realized that it could be a Spy in disguise of invisibility. It was easy for those men to hide themselves visually, but they could not stop the sound of their shoes clipping across the floor from carrying to ears when they were running.

He sent a few shots ahead of himself. The first two missed, catching at nothing. The third went long and exploded a little late. The result was the sound of a pained yelp and the invisibility cloak glitching out.

“Spy!” he roared, “Spy over here!” He hoped that his coworkers would hear his cries and come to help him. He was only one Demoman after all.

He gave chase, following the footsteps down the hall and past the Engineer’s workshop. Suddenly, the footsteps were gone and he could not hear anything. He sent out a few rounds and watched them explode, looking carefully for any signs of somebody affected by the blasts.

He grabbed his pocketed ammunition and quickly reloaded his launcher. Once he had the launcher reloaded, he threw his back up against a wall. Of course there was a chance a Spy would be looking to stab him in the back. It was the quietest way to kill a man, but Demoman was not looking to die, nor for anybody to die quietly.

“Come out, you little spider!” he sent rounds down both ends of the hall, watching for more signs of the Spy.

Seeing that there was nothing there, he realized that he must have lost the Spy after all. He pushed off the wall and charged forward. The Spy must have quieted his steps around the next corner and proceeded from there. Demoman had completely wasted his time remaining behind.

He kept his eyes peeled for any signs of the man. He did not trot as before, choosing to walk in case he missed something. He moved with his body in the center of the aisle, looking for a chance to bump into an invisible Spy.

“The enemy has taken our intelligence,” the Administrator announced.

Knowing what that meant, Demoman sprinted off towards the intelligence room. The Spy would not be able to disappear so quickly, not when others would be protecting the briefcase so closely. He was just about to reach the door, when he ran into a man. He did not see the man, he just ran directly into him, causing the invisibility to glitch.

“Spy!” he shouted out of instinct, setting off several rounds of explosives.

He took a good deal of the blast, sending himself into the wall. He grunted and peeled himself off the wall to look at the mess that was made. The Spy took the brunt of the blast, leaving him an ugly mess of gore. There was blood on the briefcase, but at least it was safe now.

“Excellent,” his team’s Spy turned a corner and casually picked up the briefcase.

Demoman was no fool. He got to his feet and strolled over to pat the man on the shoulder. Seeing as there was no glitch, he just patted the man. They succeeded in their work and the briefcase would be returned to its rightful place.

“Well done,” the old woman’s purr sounded like it was still lined with mirth.

“Well, time to put this back,” the Spy turned and headed back to the intelligence room.

Demoman limped off to find the Medic. He needed to be patched up. He was already sure that he would be feeling the bruises for a week.

Rest, a bit of alcohol and some quiet did wonders for pain. Demoman found himself taking his rest to the large storage room. Seated at the piano, he carefully plucked at the keys, thinking on how the song could change or be different.

The same piece over and over was just boring. Within the humdrum of these walls, he needed to play something new. He began with a few measures, thinking on them carefully. He was satisfied with the new swell of music, how his composition rose and crashed, like waves on a beach.

His heart raced as his fingers sped up. It was like his composition had set a pace and he was set to lose everything if he did not keep up with it. Grinning from ear to ear, he kept pace with the composition, as if it was a mere lope, rather than a gallop.

The Beethoven inspired crash was just hitting when the door opened. He did not let it disturb him, ascending the keys with another build up to crash again with deafening strength. The next ascension was built a bit longer, meant to prolong the inevitable and predictable crash with tinkling high notes that soared so high that his heart was racing.

Knocking interrupted his crash. His fingers froze and he frowned. He checked the placement of his feet, but his boots were not in a position where he could have knocked on the bottom of the piano. He looked up to see the Engineer knocking on the door frame again, looking his way from behind goggle lenses.

“Hey Demo,” the Engineer greeted, “You got a phone call in the main office.”

He blinked at the man at hearing that. It was not the kind of thing he expected. A phone call in the office was important for many reasons. He could have said that the Administrator wanted to speak with him, but he did not say that. Demoman also did not give out phone numbers so simply, so there were not many people that could be calling him.

He frowned, thinking over his options. He figured it must have been the only other woman who had the number to reach him. If she did manage to keep that number on hand and use it without being able to read with her blind old eyes, then she might be calling to ask him where he was and why he was not working.

He rose from the piano and quickly tucked the bench in. He started to the door with confidence in what he would tell her. He was at work, after all. He was busy and she would have to respect that eventually.

He marched right past the Engineer. He did not need an escort to show him where to go, after all. He knew his way around the base well enough to know where the office was.

When he reached the office, he found the phone with its ear piece off the receiver. He picked it up and placed it to his ear. He was expecting a senile rant of some sort already. The woman could forget that there was nobody on the other end of the line, after all.

“Aye? Who is it?” he asked.

“Tavish DeGroot?” he was not expecting this unfamiliar man’s voice on the other end of the line.

He had quite a few lines ready to spew, thinking it was his mother. He cleared his throat, erasing those words from his mind, seeing as she was not involved. “This is Tavish speaking,” he replied.

“Mr. DeGroot, my name is Charles Neilson. I’m a doctor at Mountain County Emergency Hospital,” the man on the other end of the line said.

Tavish grew more confused by the moment. Why would the hospital have this number? Why would the hospital be able to reach him here? Why would the hospital be trying to reach out to him? He was so confused with too many questions to ask at once.

“What?” was all he could manage.

“Mr. DeGroot, I am calling on behalf of your mother,” Dr. Charles Neilson explained.

“My mother?!” he tensed.

If his mother was at the hospital, then that meant something was wrong. He was not there to take care of her. He was not there to make sure she took the right medications. She could have taken the wrong medications. She could have missed her medications, due to not being able to see any of the clocks.

“What happened to my mother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately,” the doctor began, “Your mother was brought in after having a stroke. She is currently being held in the ICU.”

“Oh thank Nessy,” the words spilled from his lips as he realized that it had not been worse. The old coot was still alive.

The doctor continued with uncertainty in his tone, “Your mother’s condition is very…uncertain.”

“Uncertain?” Demoman replied.

“Your mother came in suffering from a brain stroke,” Dr. Neilson explained, “She is currently stable, but she may not be for long.”

“What you saying?” Demoman demanded.

“Your mother may be on her death bed,” the doctor explained, “It’s advisable for you to come in and say your last goodbye to her.”

Demoman stood there with the phone to his ear. He was not sure how to respond or what to say. This felt unreal. It must have been a dream.

“I’m not dying! Tavish, you’d better be getting back to work!” he heard his old mother calling in her croaking voice.

He sighed and put the phone down on the receiver. Ah yes, his mother would be kicking alright. She would be fine, just as she always was. After all, Tavish took after her, surviving a demolitions work and taking nothing more than minor injuries. She would recover from this and be back home to harass him about his workload like normal.

He turned from the phone and headed out the door. He followed his feet back to where he was before. He sat down at the piano and started playing again. The keys brought his creation back to life as he thought back on the notes. He still had to finish composing his last ascension with its final crash down to Earth.

“Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence!” the Administrator’s voice cut sharply through the air.

Demoman snatched up his launcher from the floor and made a mad dash out the door. His legs stretched as far as they could go as he raced through the halls in search of the enemy. It could be any kind of enemy this time too. It could be a Spy or some other type of mercenary. He had no idea what to expect.

He slid around a corner and pushed forward as he saw the enemy come into view. A big man with a smaller man circling him. His team Sniper was fighting with the smaller man, deflecting the enemy’s bat with his machete. All the while, the big man carrying the intelligence was fighting off the Pyro and the Scout.

“Take them down, boys!” Demoman roared as he sent in a hail of explosives. Sniper took cover as the man he was fighting exploded into bits. The gore spattered the walls and even the other enemy.

The bigger enemy was not so easily taken down. Limping, the big man turned on his heel to face Demoman. Unfortunately, the big man was carrying a very big gun, which revved up with lots of bullets. The loud thundering of bullets filled the Demoman’s ears as he side stepped the inevitably slow aim.

Despite the explosive noise, all he could hear was the ascension of the piano. He listened to the way it twinkled through the keys all the way up to its crescendo. He sent out his pellets, letting the bigger man get blasted as the crescendo blasted against his ear drums.

The last crescendo hit and the big man fell. Demoman signed as he watched the man fall to his explosives and the others’ bullets. They had succeeded in their task.

To top it all off, the old crone said, “Job well done.”

Smiling and giddy, the Demoman started towards the storage room again. He stopped midstep when he heard the Scout say something strange. It was so outlandish, yet it made so much sense. That niggling part of his mind that sought out curious things made him turn around.

Scout was kneeling at the briefcase, as he pulled it away from the dead body. Eyes fixated on it, the runner’s hands ran over its broad side. Those fingers came to rest at the latches, where the locks were.

“Our job is protecting the briefcase, mate,” the Sniper interrupted, hands carefully cleaning off the blade of his machete, using a scrap of shirt from the deceased, “We’re not supposed to be snooping around.”

“I’m fairly certain that is _my_ job,” the Spy appeared from around the corner.

“I’m not going to take it,” the Scout raised his hands defensively, “I’m just going to look.”

The Pyro started talking, but nobody could understand Pyro. They all remained quiet while the arsonist spoke, letting the fella have the floor to talk. Once finished, everybody else resumed as if nothing had come from the Pyro at all.

“Last thing you want is to piss off the old money bags,” the Sniper argued, shaking his machete in Scout’s direction.

“What’s a little peek going to hurt?” the Scout shrugged.

“It could hurt your reputation,” the Spy explained, “It could be disastrously irreversible effects.”

“It could be a bomb,” the Sniper offered with a shrug.

“A bomb?” Demoman’s intrigue piqued just a little bit more. He doubted there was actually an explosive device inside, but damn if it did not ascend his interest.

“It could be any number of things, Scout,” the Spy explained, “But the best case is the leave the case alone.”

“It’s not like you’re going to find anything useful in there,” the Sniper added, “No guns. No cure for cancer. No fat stacks of cash.”

“We’re already sitting on fat stacks of cash,” the Scout laughed.

“Exactly,” the Sniper holstered his machete, “And that’s why we don’t need to be looking for nothing in that briefcase.”

Demoman followed his feet to the briefcase. In spite of everything he had heard, there was something niggling at the back of hid mind. There was something pleading with him. The desperation there was enough to drive a man mad. When he knelt down, the others became alarmed.

“Demo! What are you doing?” the Sniper proclaimed.

“We just told Scout-” the Spy paused to gesture to the youngest man standing.

“I know what you told Scout,” the Demoman turned the briefcase to himself, thumbs grazing over the locks. These were very simple locks too. He could easily break into it himself without explosives. Pulling a couple of pins from his hat, he did just that.

“Mate, this is about where the point of no return is,” the Sniper interrupted him.

“Shut up! Now I gotta see what’s in there!” the Scout crouched down next to Demoman.

“What is happening?” the Heavy appeared from around the corner.

“Demo’s gonna open the briefcase to see what’s inside!” the Scout pointed excitedly.

“This is bad,” the Heavy shook his head.

“It’s just a peek,” Scout rolled his eyes, “It’s not like we’re gonna take it. Our job is to protect it. The least we’re owed is knowledge of what’s in it.”

“Right,” the Demoman mumbled as he fumbled with the latches.

In spite of their reservations, everybody moved around to peer over Demoman’s shoulders. They all wanted a peek. They all wanted to look and marvel at what was inside. The sheer anxiety and anticipation was so tense that he could feel how much the others were waiting for something exciting.

He pulled open the briefcase, letting the lid prop itself against the back. He stared in disbelief at the thing. It might as well have been any average crate or box. It might as well have been a bomb with a millisecond left on the counter.

He reached in and picked up the solitary piece of paper. His lips parted and he read it aloud, “You failed.”

“What?” the Scout exclaimed.

“Somebody has been stolen our intelligence!” the Administrator’s voice brought everybody’s attention away from the note, “You failures had one job!”

“How were we supposed to know it was stolen?” the Scout asked with a scoff.

“This is very, very bad,” the Heavy grumbled.

“Well,” the Spy spoke up, “It seems this was a good idea.”

“Hell yea it was!” Scout spat angrily, “We lost the freaking intelligence! We didn’t even know it!”

“Next thing we need to do is track down the enemy,” the Sniper interrupted, “Take up the trail and find whatever was stolen from the briefcase.”

“How are we supposed to do that when we don’t even know what was _in_ the briefcase?” the Scout demanded.

“This is big problem,” Heavy agreed.

“We start by following the steps,” the Spy explained.

Demoman rose to his feet and walked away from the group. There was too much noise. It was all too much. He needed a minute to think.

He was protecting an empty briefcase for who knew how long. Somebody had stolen what was in it already. They were left with the remains of failure. He did not have to be here to fail either, he could have been anywhere. He could have been at home instead. He could have been at the hospital with his mother.

The note slipped from his fingers and he broke into a run. He did not stop for the confused outcries of the Engineer and the Medic. He just kept on running until he reached the garage.

The truck’s keys were kept conveniently inside of it. So, he was able to quickly start it up and get it running. Without looking back, he turned the nose of the truck to the old road leading down the mountain. The snow had covered a lot of the road, but he did not care. He had already failed, and he did it with so much wasted time.

He did not slow down for the snow. He had a lot of time to catch up on. He had a lot of terrain to cover. He did not even slow down when the tires hit black pavement. He followed the signs of the emergency hospital, watching warily with his eye peeled for signs of it.

He ran right over the curb, unable to properly see the distance for the turn, when he found the parking lot for the hospital. It was a small place, yet rather large for such a small town. He doubted there were too many people in the hospital currently. It made finding a Mrs. DeGroot easy, and he was taken right to her room without any questions asked. He did find it awkward to walk through the place with every eye turned to him with the fear of men who knew his line of work was not so pleasant. Yet the doctors and nurses said nothing as they let him into the room with the tiny woman with no eyes and a sharp tongue for her son missing out on work.

Demoman adjusted his seat on the bench of the piano. It creaked with such familiarity, yet it seemed so loud. He lifted the cover to reveal the keys, the same keys he had played for many years now. They were still ivory white, but looking at them now he could see that they were becoming stained with age. They were not quite pristine anymore.

He placed his fingers on the keys and his eye turned to the piece laid out before him. He began to play the old tune, letting the notes lilt through the air through each rise and fall of the measures. He closed his eye as he used his memory to lead his hands through the song.

The song took him back this time. It took him to a place far from here. It was a place that only existed in his memory anymore. It was nothing more than what he recalled, with experiences nobody else had. What he could remember now though was the small brown piano with its stained wood and rusting decorative parts. Its yellow keys looked like they were painted. They did not mind the dirty fingers that pressed them, percussing them to create notes that created the song he learned all those years ago.

He remembered his mother’s eyes, dark brown irises that glimmered so bright. He remembered how she’d bob back and forth with the rhythm, each chord made without visual attention. She did not need to see to know them, as she looked only at Tavish.

He remembered being enamored and frustrated all at once. Wanting so badly to be able to play the whole piece by heart, without looking at his hands or the composition itself. Being too naïve and new to the talent to be able to do much more than play the chords he knew without looking.

He opened his eye as he finished the song. A throat cleared and he turned his head to see the Spy. The man looked pristine and aloof, despite having likely waited until the end of the song to interrupt him.

“If you are finished, we are leaving in five minutes,” the Spy stated, “We expect you to join us.”

“Right,” Tavish covered the keys with a sigh.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” the Spy inquired.

“No,” Tavish said as he rose from the piano’s bench.

“Good,” Spy replied, “There was some worry about your sudden disappearance earlier. We are down by Soldier as it is.”

“Right,” Demoman sighed, “I didn’t go drinking, if that’s what you’re asking. I went to the hospital.”

“The hospital?” the Spy sounded surprised.

“I went to say goodbye is all,” Tavish scooted the piano bench under it and gave the instrument one last pet. He turned to the door and headed out, leaving the quiet room behind him.


	6. When One Slows Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic has to run for emergency supplies in the town down the mountain. During his visit, he sees some sights and meets a little boy.
> 
> TW: death

Perseverance usually paid off. With a little time, all things came around. It just took a little time and patience. Persevering in the face of adversity was a feat best known to be rewarding. It was in times like this, with places as cold as this mountain, where perseverance became so important.

With work hitting hard this winter, most of the men were not taking care of themselves very well. None knew that better than the Medic. It was hard enough to keep up with all of the demand. Even with that, he recognized that he was not doing enough. There was never enough time in the day. There was never enough medicine to go around. There was never enough of his own hands to work.

It would take perseverance to get through this. He understood that well. Every winter was bad, and this would be no different. Except for the fact that it seemed to be worse than the last. A record number of colds, running out of medicine weeks before shipments, and even losing track of patients.

It was getting to be too much. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that this was all too much. His primary role here was as a field medic, yet he fell victim to all the same things. He could not tell his crew to just be patient with the restocking of medicinal supplies when he himself was also in dire need of these.

No more cough medicine. That would come with the shipment a week away. No more antiseptic, but that would also come. They were out of sanitizing alcohol and wraps for open wounds, that was not something he thought could wait for the train. Worst of all, he had spent the past few weeks drinking the last of the cough medicine and it never got better. It only grew worse.

It hurt to do anything more than gently breathe. Standing and walking made him breathe a bit heavier, though that was never something he paid attention to before this, as now it felt like suffering. The moment he tried for a deep breath, his throat protested and his lungs produced a fit of coughing. He struggled, leaning himself against a wall to rest, while the coughing died down.

He took a moment more to rest. He just needed to persevere beyond this cough. Maybe he could find something at the local pharmaceutical for this condition. Some cough medicine would be nice. But the primary target for his venture was not for his coughing, but for the dangerously open wounds.

Gunshots came from the northeastern side of the base. He could hear Scout screaming and Heavy roaring. They were in the midst of a fit of fighting. Already out of everything to help, Medic had to do the last thing he could. He was going down the mountain to see what the locals had in stock.

He produced the keys from his pocket. He unlocked the door to the truck. He climbed up and placed himself in the seat with a relieved sigh. It was relaxing to just sit down and not move. This was not his purpose for being here though, he needed to get going.

He did not have to use the gas beyond getting the vehicle started. The slope of the mountain carried him the rest of the way there. He kept his boot steadily over the break, waiting to slow it down or bring it to a full stop if he needed to. The roads were icy at this time of year, after all. There was no telling what could happen if he was not cautious.

Everything around him was white. Even trees were white, the evergreens and those who had lost their autumn red and orange leaves were covered in a layer of snow. He had been in awe of the landscape when he first arrived. It was still rather pretty, if you had the time to stop and look at it. There was no time to be stopping for this kind of thought now. Not when everybody was counting on him to bring back medicine and bandages.

He slowly depressed the break as the vehicle approached the first stop sign. There was nobody around. There were no pedestrians or cars passing by. Still, it was better to be cautious than to regret it. He did not exactly trust locals to be mindful of the men coming down a mountain as fast as gravity could take them.

He gently pressed the gas and went up another slope, just a shallow one that led over something of a hill. This road led around the western outskirts of the town. It would eventually meet what the locals called Main Street. Its label was Sunnyside Street. This was such a silly name for a street on ever snowy mountains, in his opinion.

He turned on Sunnyside Street and kept his eyes looking for anybody around. Pedestrians could step out in front of him from behind vehicles or bushes without him having time to stop. Other vehicles could suddenly start up and begin moving without him being aware. He just had to be more vigilant than they were.

His body tensed only a breath before a fit of coughing started. He felt like his lungs wanted to come up his throat, lurching every bit of phlegm they could in their place. He eased off the gas while he was coughing, acutely aware that his hands were slightly jerking on the wheel as he coughed.

When it stopped he took a deep breath. He let it out with a sigh. Relief came somewhat, leaving him with a headache and more reason to find cough syrup. He reminded himself that the bandages came first, along with anything to disinfect wounds. His cough could be dealt with later. He just had to persevere, be patient and wait for the supply train to deliver the goods he had requested so many weeks ago.

If only supplies came more often, he thought. The supply train was only sent this way once every other month. The last place he worked, they sent the supply train at least once a month, if not two. This was ridiculous. He would uphold that it was ridiculous, despite higher ups insisting that he should plan for this by ordering twice what they would normally order.

He slowed down further as the street led him to a more traffic heavy area. Not that there were many people. He passed only one moving car so far. Though, there were pedestrians out and about. They were all dressed up, with thick jackets of faux fur and intended for use in snow. A small group of adolescents played around a snowman, covering it in rocks as eyes and a mouth.

Families crossed the street, hand in hand with their children. The shops that lined this street were lit up, their insides alight with warmth and their windows decorated with green. The eaves were hung with strings of lights that flashed and flickered, most of them green and red. The families ducked into these shops, going together for their shopping.

The trees that were planted at even distance on either side of the road were decorated. The evergreens on the mountain were covered in a full layer of snow. However, these trees had only a powdering of snow, as if the bulk of it had been shaken away. Their branches were decorated with lights, shiny tinsel, and round reflective colored balls. Underneath their protective branches, where no snow could reach, people had tucked some boxes, all wrapped up in vibrant colors, with even more vibrant ribbons, to give decoration to the otherwise dull browns beneath the tree.

Medic was a little taken aback. Not that he was in awe of the holiday. He had seen this holiday every year. Since arriving at the mountain, he had seen how the people here decorated for it. This winter’s blizzards must have been the worst, yet it almost seemed that they were doing even more than the year before. The boxes were a usual touch, but adding lights to the power poles was new.

He pulled up to a store with a cross and snake symbol. He parked along the street and climbed out unsteadily. He had forgotten how tired his body was from fighting and coughing. He had also not considered how slippery the ground would be, in spite of all the white salt he could see spread across the concrete.

He paid mind to lock up the vehicle before he proceeded into the shop. The whimsical singing and laughter of children caught his ear, but he turned his focus to his task ahead. He was still without bandages to wrap his wounded coworkers. He certainly did not have anything to disinfect their wounds.

A bell jingled as he swung the glass door open. His face was blasted with the warmth of the sun from inside. He shivered, amazed that anyplace could be so warm when it was so cold outside. Perhaps he had gotten used to being at the cold base, with no time or space to get warm. It made the icy sensation melt off of his bones.

“Good evening sir!” the clerk greeted through his bushy mustache with a vibrant smile.

Medic barely raised a hand in greeting. He was not keen on starting a fit of coughing just to greet a man. He certainly was not going to strain his lungs to raise his voice for the distance. He proceeded down the aisles, looking around as he searched for what he needed. He felt a little lost, in spite of himself. He never had time to come into this shop, so it was his first time here. The organization was not how he had expected it would be. Knowing plenty about medicine, he was sure he could find everything himself, but as he searched the aisles he was growing far wearier.

“Is there something I can help you find sir?” the man at the counter called to him cheerfully.

Not wanting to strain his voice, Medic decided to go to the man to talk to him. He strolled to the counter to move close enough to speak low. He dared not bring his voice to high, lest he started another coughing fit in the process.

“Where can I find bandages and alcohol?” he inquired.

The man blinked at him for a moment, “Well…we have sports wraps and bandages in aisle three.” The man pointed him in the direction he needed to go.

“Thank you,” Medic said, not hesitating to start to his destination.

“I think you’ll find disinfecting wipes and other materials in aisle six,” the man called after him.

He raised a hand to gesture in acknowledgment as he approached aisle three. His eyes glanced over a vast array of wraps. Wraps for ankles, wrists and other joints. Support wraps and athletic wraps filled the shelves. Brightly colored plastic packages with advertised one-size-fits-all wraps that require not attention to the details of wrapping hung from hooks.

“Sir, you don’t need smaller bandaids, do you?” suddenly the clerk appeared beside him.

He flinched away, taken aback by the sudden appearance. Why had he not heard the man’s feet approaching him? That seemed rather strange to him. He always heard everything around the base. Perhaps his ears were getting poor.

“No,” he spoke as low as he could so as not to strain himself.

“Okay, well what size do you need?” the man inquired, “I can help you find it.”

“I need medical tape and bandage wrapping,” he explained, “I need disinfectant and ointment.”

“Uh, okay, I can fetch the disinfectant and ointment while you’re looking for the bandages you want,” the man insisted.

“Thank you. And I need-” his voice cut off with a cough. His body lurched and tensed as he lost his breath to the horrendous coughing. Every hack was a painful tremor through his body and demanded that he paid with pain.

“Are you alright, sir?” the man inquired.

“I’m fine,” Medic assured him, “Just a cough. I need some…some mucokinetic medicine. Also some antihistamines.” The last was an afterthought as he remembered that the Engineer was also sick, but dealing with some different symptoms.

“Right sir,” the man nodded, before hurrying of.

Medic turned his attention back to the bandages. There were just so many wraps made for supporting sprains and wrapping certain joints. He just needed wraps for wounds. So when he found these wraps, he was relieved and began to gather as much of it as he could manage.

He brought the bandages to the counter to wait for him while he shopped for the rest of what he needed. The bandages would be little help if he left the wounds uncleansed and not medicated. They would simply become infected and the worst would happen. In the state they were in, he did not need to be cutting off limbs. They were already out of everything until the supply train arrived.

“Will this do, sir?” the man met him halfway with his hands full of bottles.

He began grabbing bottles from the man’s hands and checking them. He looked over the labels, checking amounts and information about the medication. He needed the most efficient medication with the most he could get out of them.

“I suppose this will have to do,” he took what was given to him and brought it to the counter.

He man looked at the stack of wraps with an open mouth, “Um…sir?”

“Hmm?” Medic was busy digging out his wallet and preparing to pay.

“That’s our whole stock of wraps,” the man explained, “I don’t think I can sell that all to you, sir.”

Medic bristled, feeling a want to rage and rant loudly about the inconvenience. It was hard enough that he had to put up with his workplace not having enough supplies. Now he had to be shorthanded at a damn store.

“There are eight wounded men who need this medication,” he explained as he sifted through the bills in his wallet.

“But sir, other people need these,” the man protested.

“And so do the eight men,” Medic argued.

“If you take these, there will be none here in town!” the man protested.

“When does your supply come in?” Medic inquired.

The man hesitated for thought, “Four days?”

Medic growled, “Mine comes in over a week. There are eight men. Eight men with broken bones, open wounds, bleeding skin and unbearable coughs. We need these wraps.”

“But sir…shouldn’t you take them to a doctor?” the man asked, looking rather shocked.

“I’m the doctor,” he growled.

“Really?” the man paused, “My mistake. I thought perhaps you had come from a party.”

“A party?” Medic was taken aback.

“Shouldn’t you call an ambulance instead?” the man offered.

“Eight men up a mountain…” the Medic paused, watching the man ponder these words, “Up the mountain are eight men who need these medical supplies urgently. Do you think there are eight ambulances who can make it up the mountain?”

The man’s face changed so drastically. The cheery smile was lost under the mustache. Even the muscles around his face changed as the color slowly disappeared. He had not noticed before just how rosy and warm the man’s face looked. Now he was almost pale.

“Y-you came down the mountain?” the man stammered nervously.

Medic nodded, “I have a truck that can make the drive. I just need supplies for eight men…who need their doctor.”

The man pushed the supplies towards him, “Please take it.”

“I haven’t paid yet,” Medic responded.

“Take it,” the man insisted.

“Erm…” Medic held up a large bill to show the man that he intended to pay.

“Take the supplies,” the man insisted, “Don’t let those men die on Smissmas Eve!”

Medic hesitated before putting the bill back in his wallet. The man pulled out a brown paper bag and quickly filled it with what was there. While he was distracted, Medic placed two large bills on the counter. That should be plenty to cover it and then some, he figured. If he needed to come here again, he did not want a poor reputation. He could not foresee any changes to their supply issues coming within future months, so eh would have to be friendly. When the bag was filled, Medic took the bag and left without another word. When he stepped outside, the icy temperatures shocked his skin. It was especially biting for his lungs as he tried to breathe in the sharp air.

He stepped towards the truck, only to realize that since going inside, there had been a gathering of snow in the path. It was not the kind of gathering that occurred naturally. The snow had been gathered by small hands and was currently being shaped by those hands with very little finesse.

A small boy was patting the mound, trying to pound it into shape with a flat hand. He was quite focused on his work, cap pulled low and his scarf falling loose. He did not even seem to notice the man who had stepped outside.

He opened his mouth to speak, just as his lungs decided to let up a cough. The cough turned into hacking. The hacking decided to last forever. His body doubled over slightly, swaying uneasily as his muscles tried to give up on him. He was so tired.

“Oh, sorry mister!” the boy moved around his snowman to make room for Medic to pass.

“Why are you building this on the path?” he asked the boy.

“On the path?” the boy looked down at the ground, “Well, I can’t build it on the street!”

“Build it elsewhere,” the Medic told him, “It’s not good to build it in other peoples’ way.”

“Well, nobody told me that,” the boy argued.

“Well, who told you how to build that?” he asked, pointing to the mound of snow.

“My brother did,” the boy pointed down the street, where much older boys were gathered around their own, recognizable snowman. Those boys did not even notice the little boy with his mound of snow. “They wouldn’t let me build with them. They won’t help me build mine either,” the boy added.

“Well, you seem to be doing well enough on your own,” Medic carefully slipped by the snowman, trying not to rub against it too much.

“Mister? Do you know how to build a snowman?” the boy asked.

He sighed and said, “I do.”

“Will you help me build a snowman?” the boy pleaded.

“I have more important things to do than to put together a snow man,” he insisted.

“But if I don’t build a snowman, they won’t _ever_ play with me,” the boy pleaded again.

“Who won’t?” Medic raised an eyebrow at him.

“My brother and the other boys,” the boy pointed towards the adolescents again, “They won’t play with me. But they _will_ play with me if they see I built a really cool snowman.”

Medic looked from the pathetic mound of snow then to the older boys. This was hardly a logical way of seeing things. He had more important things to do anyways.

“I can’t help you,” Medic turned and stepped towards the truck.

The ice removed friction from beneath his boots. His foot slipped out from under him. His leg whipped up in front of his body. Suddenly he was tumbling backwards and the world was about to hit him. He was more surprised when he did not hit the concrete, instead landing into a pile of snow.

He breathed a sigh of relief, just as the boy started whining, “Oh no! My snowman!”

Medic twisted around to look. Sure enough, he had landed on the boy’s snowman, completely crushing what did not fall away. The mound was destroyed and useless.

“You broke my snowman!” the boy exclaimed.

“It was an accident!” the Medic argued.

“Can you help me fix it?” the boy pleaded.

Medic slowly got to his feet and sighed, “Well…” He looked from the mess of snow to the boy. He thought this boy was very strange, talking to a stranger and making such an odd conversation.

“Please?” the boy put his gloved hands together.

“Fine,” Medic sighed as he got to his feet, “But no more mounds of snow, you need a big boulder of snow.”

“What’s a boulder of snow?” the boy asked.

“A boulder is a big rock,” he explained, “So make a big ball of snow, giant like a boulder.”

“Do we get a big rock?” the boy asked.

“Start with a small ball of snow,” he picked up some snow and started balling it between his hands. The boy started the same. He showed the boy how to add more snow, slowly balling it bigger and bigger. Soon, his own ball was too big to hold, so he set it on the ground, just on the edge of the path. He took the ball from the boy and set it atop his own ball.

“Now what?” the boy asked, his eyes alight with glee.

Seeing that he had little time to spare, he decided to skip on the head, “Now we put something on it to make it a man.”

“Like what?” the boy asked, “Oh!” the boy’s eyes lit up as he realized what he had to do. He started running around, quickly grabbing dirt and rocks off the ground.

Medic took a step back and watched as the boy began to craft his makeshift man. Seeing as he had not thought of it, he grabbed a fallen stick and snapped it in two. He put the two halves on either side of the snowman’s body.

“Arms!” the boy exclaimed excitedly.

“Yes,” Medic nodded.

There was a moment of silence. The two of them marveled at their creation. For a moment, he almost forgot that he was in a hurry. His bag was sitting on the ground, right where he had dropped it when he fell.

“Oh!” the boy exclaimed. He rushed to the snowman and untangled his own neck from his scarf. He quickly began tying his green and red striped scarf around the snowman’s neck.

“What?” the Medic looked to the boy. Such a crazy thing to do in this temperature. The kid could catch a cold or worse out here. “Don’t do that! You need your scarf!”

“But he looks so cold!” the boy protested.

Medic quickly grabbed the scarf from around his own neck, unravelling it. He hastily tied it around the boy’s neck, if only to make sure the boy would not be exposed for a long while before his parents finally dragged him indoors. Though if this boy was anything like _he_ was as a boy, the kid would be out here for hours. Not that it was much of a loss, it was just a standard red scarf. Then again, he did like that it had white birds on it, and would have preferred to keep this one.

“Now, stay warm,” Medic rose to his feet and grabbed his bag, “I have to get going.”

“Thanks mister!” the boy called after him.

He did not bother to look back, simply throwing up his hand in acknowledgment. As soon as he was in the truck, he breathed in relief. No more talking, because that hurt. His throat ached. His body ached. He was starting to feel the consequences of that fall. He should not have stopped to help the boy with a silly little snow project. Now he would have to deal with worse consequences back at base.

He was already imagining his bed. The team got so little sleep for how little time they had. He needed more sleep. Given how sick he was, he definitely needed it now more than usual. Now he was without his scarf to protect himself from the elements. He mentally kicked himself for giving his clothing to the boy.

The truck rolled forward, out into the road. He started towards the first stop sign. He was rolling to a stop when the whole truck lurched to the left. His body was swung around and as the momentum launched him back against the door, his head slammed against the window. His hands halted on the steering wheel. He barely moved for a few moments. He just sat there, processing what had happened.

He took a breath and while trying to suppress a fit of coughing, he climbed out of the vehicle into the street. His boots found the ground and he walked around the front of the truck. The other vehicle had flattened the front, pushing the engine out of place. Though, he was unsure if how much radiator fluid was on the ground was enough to have come from the other vehicle alone. It looked like the damage had been a lot more than one vehicle.

There was shouting and lots of noise. Voices rose and all around him was a clamor. He was not sure what to make of it anymore. He was too tired. It was too much.

He pressed his back against the side of the vehicle and let his body slide to the ground. It was all too much to process and he was too tired to think. He wanted to be back at the base, but that too seemed like too much to ask for at this moment. Right now, all he could do was sit and feel calm.

A small hand shook him, “Mister?”

He peeled his eyes open to see the boy from before. He reached out and touched Medic’s head. There was a moment of silence, as Medic was not sure what to say in his current state.

“Stay awake, mister,” the boy insisted.

Medic was not sure how long he was there. He was not sure how many times he came close to nodding off. All he knew was that every time he came close to that edge, the small voice pulled him back. The boy even gave him a shake when he needed to.

The cold clutches of winter began to take hold. The way it embraced him made him feel sleepier. That was, until something warm wrapped tightly around his neck.

He shivered against the cold and tried to shift his position. The boy’s hand remained on his shoulder, “Stay still, mister.”

He did not know when he was moved, but eventually he was taken indoors. It was no longer cold. He no longer required his layers. All the while, people were talking around him. He wondered if perhaps this was how he was meant to die. The devil would take him earlier than planned, so he would have to be ready for that.

A small cold hand laid on his hand. It just laid there on top of his hand. He was not sure how long it was there, or when he eventually succumbed, despite all efforts. It felt good just to relax into restfulness.

When Medic roused, he was alone. He was somewhere sanitary. It smelled like the infirmary. He was not sure whether it was a hospital or simply a clean room.

He noticed somebody nearby and spoke up, “Where am I?”

“You’re in the intensive care unit, sir,” was the curt response, “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Ah,” he closed his eyes as he tried to think back over what happened. He needed to be on his feet so he could go take care of the injuries his comrades were dealing with. “Where is the boy?”

“What boy?” the person responded.

“The little boy,” he tried to remember what he looked like. It was hard to think. Then he remembered that he put his own scarf around the boy’s neck. “He’s wearing a red scarf,” he explained, “One with white birds on it.”

The person hesitated, saying nothing for a long while. It almost seemed that they would ignore him completely. He grunted and shifted where he was laying, trying to see how much his body would protest to him getting up.

“Red scarf with white birds?” the person finally spoke again.

“Mmhm,” he nodded in response as he tried to get his feet off the bed.

“They lost him early this morning,” the person said.

His head whipped around to look up at the person. He immediately regretted it, as his world began to spin. He held still as he waited for everything around him to feel still and secure. He blinked until he was finally grounded in reality.

“What do you mean, they lost him?” he inquired.

“He passed away in the ER around one,” the person explained, “You’re lucky to be alive. That boy wasn’t so lucky.”

“What…?” he blinked in bewilderment, “What are you talking about? He wasn’t anywhere near the accident!”

“He was wedged between your truck and the other vehicle,” the person argued.

He did not have words. He was not sure what to think. This person had to be talking about a different boy. The boy he remembered had touched his head and kept him awake for a long time.


	7. Fire in the Ice

The wintry cold was the opposition of flames. It was the powerful winds that put out the light of the fire. Out without a warning, it left a mercenary with a ruined weapon, for the most part. Fire was the best kind of medicine for the kinds of rats that often came around the base, but there were other ways to handle a situation.

Everybody knew that Medic was missing. Nobody could say where he had gone. He had just disappeared in a flash. Perhaps the wind took him away on dove wings, like an angel. No, that was not Medic’s style. Medic would go down in the flaming pits of hell, with metallic strings beating out a rhythm of his arrival to eternal suffering. He would go with laughter, menacingly.

Nobody seemed to notice that they had been down one mercenary for a while. Soldier had not gone out quietly, yet nobody could tell the Pyro where he had gone. None of them seemed to realize that he was gone at all. They were all too busy with their broken bones, mangled limbs and throbbing headaches.

True, Pyro too had plenty of bruises. There was a limp in the step as a knee recollected its age. So much for being a mercenary on something as powerful on respawn. Getting older meant one still grew aching, tired old bones.

Not that Pyro would let that stop the joyfulness. If everybody else was going to be glum, then Pyro would bring the cheer. There had to be some form of representation for delight and joy in this gloomy place. It was not like setting up a fire anywhere was going to make them happy. They were averse to burning. The most that could be done was light a cigarette or cigar for somebody, but that immediately ended the flame with just the warm light at the end of a cancer stick.

Pyro’s ears would have perked if they were not covered by thick rubber. It was often hard to hear things inside the mask, so it was curious to hear this sound. Pyro trotted out into the snow, with the sun finally out and blazing down upon the white terrain. It was like a relief, a welcoming beacon that promised to free them of all the terrible snow and ice, the way fire should free them.

The screaming came again. It was followed by something similar to cursing. It was familiar too. That voice was unmistakable. Surely somebody else could hear this too.

Pyro entered the base’s infirmary to find the others were just as they had been left. They were laying in sick beds and curling up around mangled limbs. Even the Heavy would not let go of a hand so broken that it was twisted backwards.

“Don’t think we’ll make it through the next fight,” the Engineer sighed.

“My head hurts so much!” the Scout whined, “It’s going to explode.”

“Can anybody stand?” asked the Pyro.

Nobody responded to the request. Not one of them acknowledged Pyro’s words. Ignored and defeated, Pyro headed back out to where the scream had been crystal clear.

It was no longer clear. The shout was too far distant. Had it gone farther away? Perhaps. Looking up, the sun had moved only slightly, but it was still on its way to the banks of the West. If it disappeared, the cold would return with icy fingers and grip whoever was out there.

That left not a lot of time. As it stood, it was hard to tell where exactly the shouting was coming from. Sure, there was a general direction in which one could follow the loud boisterous American. But if one were to explore this vast whiteness without a plan, one might find themselves the dinner of pumas or wolves. Though, there would already be death by the cold before those animals started munching on bones.

Pyro sat down in the snow, cross-legged and thinking. Everyone in the base was harmed, but there was no Medic to help them. Without somebody to help out, or at least account for Pyro’s presence being missing, Pyro could easily go the way of Medic or Soldier. It could possibly be worse, leaving him in the thick of an icy death as storms often started in the dead of night here.

The quiet offered up quite a lot of peace for contemplation. It also drew out one of the elusive feral animals that lived around the mountain. A cat, almost too big for a house cat, yet far too small for a wild cat, came wandering out to Pyro’s presence. The cats were feral, sure, but they were domestic animals by breeding. So when Pyro fed them, they were eager to come out and rub against the suit. Pyro reached out to run gloved fingers over the long silky coat of thick fur that protected this animal from the weather.

Pyro wished for a way to change the nature of things. With a coat of one’s own, one could venture out unharmed. The cold would not be the kind of problem it was for naked, hairless homosapiens.

It occurred to Pyro then, with a sarcastic groan. Pyro had to admit how stupid it was not to see such an obvious answer. If anybody else had conversed with Pyro about this, then they would have been remiss not to laugh at the sheer stupidity.

Pyro gave the cat one last stroke before rising up to run inside. Pyro had some coats to find. After all, humans were not born to grow out thick protective coats on their bodies. However, homosapiens were born to adapt to any climate with their wits.

Without much adieu, Pyro bundled up in a flash. Pyro paused at the infirmary door to say a goodbye. Maybe one person could account for this mercenary’s presence being gone. Then somebody would know more than the fact that Medic was gone.

As Pyro ran out into the whiteness, a new problem arose. There was not much to do about it though. The snow seemed to rise higher and higher the farther Pyro went. It started at his ankles, but up to his hips it climbed. The levels just kept increasing, and he just hoped it did not continue.

The whispering winds began to scream. The sound reverberated in the mask seams. The unholy sound made the Pyro tremble, which only gave life like some hot music ensemble.

The mountain dared Pyro to go further, and Pyro did! Pyro kept moving, listening as the snow crunched and slid. The danger became apparent, the farther Pyro moved. The snow was not stable, and it could not be soothed.

Pyro needed to find the Soldier. The team needed Soldier fast. If only there could be an aha moment at last.

Yet, as Pyro trekked, it felt like eternity. It seemed that the mountain would present its own form of adversity. Each step was unstable. Each step was a danger. Each step brought Pyro deeper in what might be his last venture.

It had not occurred to the fire expert that there might be a threat of falling too deep into snow. It was becoming more and more apparent though, as the snow just became thicker and thicker. Deeper and deeper, Pyro’s boots disappeared, while his legs pushed relentlessly through snow. The ice was not as cold as it might have been, yet Pyro managed to feel that icy burn.

That was when Pyro sank to the top of his chest. Arms raised so that the armpits were just barely exposed, Pyro looked for a way to climb out of this pit. The snow was so deep, Pyro could not move, but worried what may happen if there was an attempt to sit.

The sinking worry treaded deeper as the pants that protected against fire became wet. Pyro struggled to free these legs, but the rest of the body was too wedged into snow. With nothing else at hand, Pyro pulled out the axe. With a grunt, Pyro flopped it into the snow and let the blade sink a bit. Normally, there would be a hot situation, where a foe came too close. This was not a scenario that the arsonist was prepared for nor experienced in.

Using both hands on the handle, Pyro turned the axe sideways. Using the blade like a shovel, the snow was scooped away in front, allowing the top of the body some room to move. Digging and digging, there became room enough to lean forward onto a bed of snow. Using this as leverage, Pyro pulled both legs out and used them to further climb out of snow.

Free and relieved, Pyro huffed a sigh. The snow beneath was probably still deep and thick, threatening to sink the mercenary back into a cold grave. From here, Pyro moved slowly, not daring to challenge the death trap all around.

It was a foolish idea to come out here. Pyro had just been interested in finding the Soldier and bringing him back safely. However, it seemed that Pyro was not going to have an easy time finding the Soldier. It was unthinkable to bring the man back like this.

“I will kill you Merasmus! You sucking suck! SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Pyro thought he heard the Soldier cry out. There was silence that followed, a long pause that left Pyro without breath or speech.

Proceeding cautiously, Pyro moved forward. Crawling on all fours, movement was slow but safer. It made for a precarious state. Such a state as to not know if the Soldier was still alive, or if the cold of death had claimed him was anxiety inducing. The Soldier could be anywhere, sunken into the snow, freezing to death. There was no telling if he would even sh-

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA,” a solid meaningless, but frankly identifiable note rang out over the mountain.

Pyro breathed a sigh of relief that the sound of a man’s voice alone was simply not enough to cause something like an avalanche. It was hard enough not to sink into the snow. Having a mass of the stuff bury the two of them would be devastating. Even the rest of the team helping them out could not dig them free like that.

Pyro crawled, hastily moving faster. The quiet noises of crunching snow and heavy breathing filled Pyro’s ears. Pyro was too eager to find the Soldier. Trying so hard to tune into the man’s noises was difficult. Every moment the man was not screaming was one filled to the brim with dread. After all, Soldier was nothing, if not noisy.

“I will not go quietly,” in spite of these words, they were spoken so quietly. There was something like mourning in them. To Pyro’s guess, it was likely weariness that was taking the Soldier’s strength. “I see your light,” the Soldier’s monologue continued, “But I will not go to it. You’ll have to pry my life from my cold dead hands. And even then! You’ll have to pry them out, because I will have glued them closed!”

“Soldier!” the Pyro called out, trying to get the man’s attention.

“This is it,” moaned the Soldier.

“Soldier, where are you?” asked the Pyro.

“The bitter end,” moaned the Soldier, with weak breath.

“It’s not the end, Soldier,” Pyro began looking around. Soldier was not far away. His voice was weak but discernible, so he had to be near.

“I had hoped for a more flashy death,” the Soldier went on, “I suppose you don’t choose your death. I should have died on the battlefield. Instead, the cursed mountain threw me down a peg! Now, here I am.”

“You’re not going to die,” Pyro sighed, digging around the snow for some sign of the reckless Soldier.

“The light calls me, but I refuse!” the Soldier announced, “I still have some fight! I can still fight!” His voice was growing stronger as he spoke. Each word was performed firmer than the last. “I do not have permission! I will be court martialed! I must not betray my country!”

Pyro drew nearer and nearer, listening intently to the voice. Caution kept Pyro’s feet from sinking, carefully sifting across treacherous terrain. It felt like forever searching, with the cold pit beneath threatening to swallow Pyro’s legs.

“I have fought in wars colder than this snow!” the Soldier declared.

“Just keep talking,” Pyro muttered.

“You call this cold! My body will turn up this heat, you weak puddles!” the Soldier roared now.

Suddenly, Pyro came to a halt. At Pyro’s feet was a helmet, turned on its side with straps dangling. Cautiously, Pyro picked it up and turned it over. It was definitely the Soldier’s helmet, which meant his head was unprotected. Then again, Pyro did not recall if Soldier wore much to protect himself from the cold.

“Come on, Soldier,” Pyro pleaded, “Keep talking.”

“Men, this is the end,” the Soldier let out a huff. It was quiet, as Pyro tried to decipher which way it was closer. “Bitter, I’d say, but sweet in the end. Ends must be sweet. Right?” the Soldier went on. He sounded forlorn.

Pyro took a cautious step to the left. Each step was preceded with careful surveying, making sure that the Soldier was not under the boot. That would be worse than this search taking longer, Pyro was sure.

“It was an honor serving,” the Soldier growled.

“It’s okay, you’re not going to die,” Pyro halted at the sight of soft hair stark against the white snow. It was a light color, but it was certainly not white, and it was good enough for Pyro to see.

Soldier giggled, “You’re right. Those were good times.”

“Soldier!” Pyro jumped down to lay flat. Both hands worked hastily to unbury the top of the Soldier.

“What’s this?” the Soldier spoke with surprise, “It’s a surprise attack! Men! All hands on deck!”

“Soldier, it’s me,” Pyro continued digging, only to find that the Soldier was facing the other direction.

“Where is my gun! No, not your gun! My gun!” the Soldier barked.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Pyro dug until he had the Soldier’s shoulders free. Unfortunately, the man’s arms appeared to be buried lower, trapping them beneath the packed snow.

“I am warning you! This is an act of war!” the Soldier yelled. His voice was much clearer, now that his had was fully free to the air.

“It’s me, Soldier,” Pyro otherwise ignored the man’s ramblings. He was likely delirious from being out in the cold for so long. Cold could not be a good thing for crazy.

Pyro began digging along the Soldier’s sides. It would take too much time and effort to actually dig his whole body out. Working out the man’s arms could give some leverage to bring him out without the added work. Just a few more inches and the Pyro was sure that the Soldier could reach out of the snow trap.

Slowly, the Soldier wriggled his arms up through the snow. Free from entrapment, the Soldier could finally reach out into the air. Pyro thought it must feel so nice to finally have his arms free of the snow.

The Soldier started chuckling. Suddenly, the man’s hands grabbed Pyro’s neck. Pyro was dragged down as Soldier embraced Pyro’s throat.

“You thought you could kill _me_? I am unkillable!” the Soldier laughed.

Pyro’s hands were busy avoiding falling in. After all, the angle would land Pyro head first into Soldier’s pit, with no escape. Doing this would lead to a faster death for the Pyro than for the Soldier.

“You can’t get me!” the Soldier declared.

“Soldier, it’s me!” Pyro exclaimed, punching the man in the shoulder.

“I am not going down without a fight! I’ll take you with me!” the Soldier declared.

Pyro heard a familiar click. It was hard to tell what it was. It could have been anything. Thankfully for Pyro, the Soldier was the kind of man to openly gloat, so he showed off the grenade pin he had just pulled. It felt as though Pyro’s heart had stopped as everything in this body began to writhe and fight for freedom and safety. The instinct to survive was strong, and Pyro hoped it was stronger than the Soldier.

The roar blistered their ears. The two of them were blasted with snow. It was apparent that the grenade went off, but the pain was not there. Perhaps it was numbness, just like the ringing that came after the noise in the ears. Just a ringing that went on as a form of aural confusion.

Pyro looked at the Soldier, whose body had been launched up out of the snow. A blanket of snow now laid over him, gently and thinly, so as not to trap him. There was definitely some form of injury as there was red all over the snow now. At least, looking at Pyro’s own person, the only red was the flame retardant suit.

“Soldier,” Pyro sighed, “You idiot.”

Pyro dug around in pockets. Other movements felt like too much right now. Pyro’s body was just too heavy to actually get up and walk around, let alone carry the Soldier’s body. The two of them would need assistance.

There was a weapon in a pocket that Pyro had not thought about before. Pyro was definitely glad for it. There were only three pieces of munition left though. These pieces would have to be used carefully. So, loading up the first piece and firing it off, Pyro watched the streak of fire across the sky. It felt so distant and surreal, almost like a dream.


End file.
